The Port Charles Files
by ghost02
Summary: Complete. X-Files crossover. Agents Mulder and Scully investigate various Port Charles mysteries.
1. Default Chapter

I posted this Feb. 16 but the formatting on Chapter 1  
came out wrong and I couldn't find a way to fix just  
the one chapter without erasing all eight and  
reposting the whole thing. So, here it is as it's   
supposed to look.   
  
  
TITLE: The Port Charles Files   
AUTHOR: Kelso (kelso28@excite.com)   
RATING: PG   
CLASSIFICATION: HC (X-Files/General Hospital crossover)   
KEYWORDS: crossover, General Hospital   
SPOILERS: Bad Blood   
DISTRIBUTION: archive anywhere   
FEEDBACK: Please! Let me know that *someone* besides my betas and  
me read this. Send to kelso28@excite.com   
DISCLAIMER: X-Files/characters owned by Chris Carter, Ten   
Thirteen, Fox. GH/characters owned by ABC/Disney.   
TIMEFRAME: Takes place in late August of 2000, when GH's Ted   
Wilson murder mystery was still unsolved. "Requiem" never happened.  
SUMMARY: "General Hospital" crossover. Mulder and Scully   
investigate various mysteries in Port Charles, New York.  
NOTES: My first GH/XF crossover was called "X-Hospital." After   
posting it, I decided to significantly rework it. More than 90%   
of this story is new material, but I did revise some dialogue and   
a few scenes from the original for inclusion in this piece.  
THANKS TO: Julie and Denise for the beta.   
  
  
  
  
The Port Charles Files 1/8  
by Kelso   
  
  
At first, August 28, 2000 seemed like any other day in the X-Files  
office. Scully sat at her computer, half-listening to Mulder   
rattle on about a multitude of amazing events that had all taken   
place in one town. Since he had found the information in a   
tabloid called "The Sun," she wasn't putting much faith in his   
discoveries. He had been trying to tempt her into reading the   
publication since last week, but she remained uninterested.   
  
She typed her password as Mulder read, "'If you're interested in   
alien sightings, Port Charles, New York, might be the place to   
go. In 1990, Casey, an alien from the planet Lumina, arrived in   
town in search of three mysterious crystals that would enable him  
to return home. Along the way, he befriended Robin Scorpio,   
daughter of former world spies and police heads Robert and Anna   
Scorpio. With Robin's help, Casey began to collect the crystals.  
The search necessitated a trip to mysterious Spoon Island, where   
master villain Cesar Faison lived. Faison, operating under the   
pseudonym of P.K. Sinclair, almost succeeded in ruining the   
mission. However, the alien prevailed. Though he suffered a near-  
death experience, Casey eventually collected each of the crystals  
and beamed home.   
  
"'The incredible story continued when, mere days later, a   
reporter named Shep Casey -- who bore a stunning resemblance to   
Casey the alien -- started to air on local television. He soon   
vanished with no official explanation, but we'd bank on the fact   
that he, too, zapped back to Lumina.   
  
"'Who knows how many other aliens have surfaced in Port Charles   
over the years? Perhaps Robin, who resides in Paris but   
occasionally returns to town to see her uncle Mac Scorpio, the   
police commissioner, could fill in some of those blanks. But   
until that day, be careful. The person sitting next to you on the  
bus could be an alien.'" Mulder stopped reading.   
  
Feeling his gaze on her, Scully guiltily looked up from her   
computer screen, where she'd been checking Nasdaq for the latest   
General Electric quote.   
  
Mulder displayed the paper, open to an article complete with   
blurry photographs. "There's also a piece about a giant weather   
machine capable of freezing the world. Guess which city was its   
first target? Port Charles."   
  
Scully put her computer on standby so she could better concen-   
trate on shooting down Mulder's latest flight of fancy. "Tell me,   
did this so-called world-freezing machine ever succeed in doing   
anything of the sort?"   
  
"It froze Port Charles. For a while," he offered.   
  
"By any chance, did this incident occur in winter?"   
  
Mulder shook his head. "In the summer of 1981. The city was   
overwhelmed. The cold would have spread to the rest of the world   
except that the evil creator, Mikkos Cassadine, was frozen by   
his own machine. And I have more." Mulder flipped to another page   
and quoted, "'Mysteries of the Undead! People who were believed   
to be dead, but who were really alive.'" A collage of photos   
displayed dozens of faces, with the accompanying article expanding   
on the identities of those pictured, and the circumstances behind   
their presumed deaths. The opposite page featured lists of local   
residents who had recovered from ailments such as blindness,   
deafness, and paralysis.   
  
"It's a tabloid, Mulder." As far as Scully was concerned, that   
statement ended the discussion.   
  
Not so for Mulder. He emphatically indicated the page. "But what   
about all of these other incidents? The interrupted weddings? The   
multiple abductions? The evil twins and lookalikes? Look at the   
'Psychopaths' page. Look at what some of these people have lived   
through. It doesn't get any better than this."   
  
"And I take it your point is that you want to go to Port   
Charles to investigate these events, neither of which supposedly   
occurred more recently than a decade ago? Come on, Mulder, an   
alien from the planet Lumina? A giant weather machine capable   
of freezing the world? You don't really expect me to believe any   
of that nonsense, do you? How can you take a tabloid so   
seriously? It's like 'The National Enquirer.' Someone's always   
suing that rag."   
  
Mulder faced her down stubbornly. "Port Charles could hold the   
keys to the answers I've been searching for for years. I can't   
just drop the subject. And it's been pretty slow around here   
lately. We haven't had a good X-File in weeks. As soon as Byers   
provides me with the background information he promised to dig up,  
you'll have to admit this one is worth following up on." He   
looked like he was about to go on, but the ringing telephone   
stopped him. "Mulder," he answered. "Yes... we'll be right there."  
He hung up and turned back to Scully. "Skinner wants to see us.   
He has a new assignment waiting."   
  
Their debate interrupted, they walked down the halls of the J.   
Edgar Hoover Building on their way to Assistant Director Skinner's  
office. Scully envisioned being sent on a stakeout, or perhaps a   
cross-country cow exsanguination (depending on how much they had   
annoyed Skinner lately). Mulder, on the other hand...   
  
"Scully, are you really that set against going to Port Charles?"   
  
She pulled her mind away from images of desiccated farm animals   
to answer. "It's a moot point, isn't it? Skinner already has us   
on something."   
  
Mulder gave her a sidelong look as they stepped into Skinner's   
outer office. "My 302 landed on his desk in plenty of time for   
this to be it."   
  
"You filed one without telling me first? Mulder, what were you--"   
  
She had no chance to finish, as the inner-office door opened and   
Skinner poked his head out. "Agents." That word was enough   
instruction, and they entered and took their seats in front of   
Skinner's desk.   
  
He looked seriously at them. "Agents, I have a new assignment for  
you. Last week, I received a 302 in which you requested to go to   
Port Charles, New York, to investigate various incidents that,  
quite frankly, seemed utterly unrealistic. I was prepared to   
reject your request, until I learned some very disturbing   
information." Skinner shuffled through a pile of papers and   
placed one on top. "I am not at liberty to reveal the details of   
what transpired with certain other agents who recently undertook  
an investigation in Port Charles. However, what I have learned   
leads me to believe that you are needed there. You should   
establish contact with Special Agent Hannah Scott, who serves as   
a liaison between the Bureau and the Port Charles Police   
Department. In fact, I advise you to obtain rooms at Kelly's, the  
boarding house in which Agent Scott resides.   
  
"As for the case, officially, you are going to Port Charles to   
look into accusations of insider trading made by Edward Quarter-   
maine against his grandson, Alan Quartermaine, Jr., more commonly   
known as 'A.J.' I know this assignment is far from your area of   
expertise, but it does get you to Port Charles. Aside from   
conducting this investigation, you may also check into any other   
situations that warrant your attention. I'm certain you will find   
no shortage of material to investigate.   
  
"One more thing: You should assist the police department with   
their search for a missing undercover officer. Otherwise, he   
might never be found. Here's some background information you   
should find useful. Good luck, agents." Skinner leaned forward,   
handed Mulder a manila folder, and waited for him and Scully to   
exit.   
  
As they rode the elevator back down to the basement, Mulder   
opened the file and began to skim the contents. "Looks like this  
stuff is mostly about members of the Quartermaine family. Did I  
imagine it, or did Skinner sound concerned for our well-being?   
Maybe there's an explanation in here."  
  
The elevator stopped on their floor, and they headed to their  
office. Mulder went to shut down his computer as Scully picked up  
the phone to make flight reservations. She was able to get seats  
on a plane leaving in just over two hours, which would give them  
enough time to go home, pack, and get to the airport.  
  
Mulder was still at his computer. "Wait a second, someone just   
sent me an e-mail." He clicked on the icon and scanned the   
message. "It's from Byers. He sent an attachment with the   
information about Port Charles that I asked for. It looks pretty  
big."  
  
"Well, there's no time to read it now. We have to hurry if we   
want to make our flight."  
  
"I'll print it out and we can read it on the way," Mulder decided.  
He hit the print button and waited while the pages slowly   
emerged.  
  
***********   
  
Byers had accumulated quite a bit of information, as it turned   
out. In fact, it took so long to print that Mulder nearly missed  
the flight. As soon as he and Scully took their seats, they   
separated Skinner and Byers' papers into two piles and began to   
wade through them. Scully ended up mostly with Skinner's   
contribution, while Mulder had Byers' share. And although they   
both read throughout the flight, they hadn't finished by the time  
the plane landed.  
  
Scully shoved the material back inside the file, and they   
disembarked. Mulder had been awfully quiet on the plane, she   
thought. He'd seemed absorbed in the printouts. Surely if there  
had been something important, he would have told her by now. She  
decided to test the waters. "I still haven't figured out what   
could be bothering Skinner so much. We'll probably find out once   
we start looking around town and talking to people. Why don't we  
see the police commissioner first?"  
  
"I doubt it will do any good. Byers turned up some very   
interesting information on him." Mulder withdrew a folded piece   
of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. "Read it and   
weep."  
  
With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach (because if Byers  
had uncovered it, it was almost certainly true), Scully smoothed   
the photocopied sheet and read the opening lines aloud:  
"'Commissioner Malcolm 'Mac' Scorpio, a former mercenary who   
turned over a new leaf, has gone from blowing up bridges and   
sabotaging ships to making Port Charles a safer place to live.   
Along the way, he has overcome major misfortunes, including a 1997  
kidnapping in which his life was taken over by an evil lookalike.'"  
She scanned the remainder of the page, which consisted of a photo  
of Scorpio and a timeline of his life. "Somehow, I don't think   
the commissioner is going to be of much help."   
  
"His wife is a real piece of work, too," Mulder informed her.   
"She's an Aztec princess who's had amnesia twice, had a husband   
return from the dead, been falsely convicted of attempted murder   
and sentenced to a psychiatric hospital, given birth to one   
daughter while under a table in a nightclub, and been kidnapped,   
temporarily paralyzed, and stalked by a psychopath and his   
identical twin brother. I don't think I left anything out."   
  
"If you did, I'd hate to imagine what." Scully thought briefly.   
"All right, obviously the commissioner's appointment is suspect.   
But there must be some competent detectives or officers on the   
force, right?"   
  
Mulder shook his head. "There is a trail stretching way back into   
history of people who have gone up against the Port Charles   
Police Department and come out the worse for it. Their top   
detective -- who, incidentally, has been dating Agent Scott -- is   
most noted for regularly overstepping his authority and nearly   
being charged with harassment every few months. Actually, the   
entire force seems pretty inept. They have an especially   
bad track record when it comes to murder investigations. You can   
just about bank on the fact that the first suspect they arrest   
will be innocent. And in a shining moment not so long ago, they   
attempted to prosecute a case in which the 'victim' was still   
alive."   
  
In the middle of giving Mulder her best skeptical look, Scully's  
attention was caught by the flight boards. "I had the impression  
that Port Charles was a small town. I've never heard of it before,  
aside from your tabloid. But look at the size of this airport,   
and the flights: Cairo, Barcelona, Rome..."   
  
Mulder looked with her. "What did I tell you? This town is one  
huge X-file."  
  
*********  
  
Mulder maneuvered the rental Dodge down the streets of Port   
Charles to Scully's directions from the map Skinner had   
thoughtfully provided. It didn't take long to reach Kelly's Diner,  
and Mulder parked behind the small building. "Ready?"   
  
"Of course." Scully calmly led the way inside.   
  
The diner was nearly deserted, with only a few customers scatter-  
ed about and a woman with long, curly blonde hair behind the   
counter. Old black-and-white photos decorated the walls; a   
jukebox stood to one side. Behind the counter, a stairway on the   
far right led to the second story.  
  
The blonde greeted them with a smile. "Why, hello. What can I get  
for you?"   
  
Mulder pulled out his badge. "We're Agents Fox Mulder and Dana   
Scully with the FBI."   
  
The woman's smile disappeared. "More FBI agents? What did I do to  
deserve this? And don't tell me you want to stay here?"   
  
"Are you the proprietor?" Mulder asked.  
  
"I'm the manager. Tammy Carson."   
  
"Two rooms, please." Scully held out a credit card.   
  
Tammy stared at them, then shrugged. "Oh, what the heck. There's   
no way you two can be worse than Hannah, right? And I happen   
to have a couple of vacancies." She handed them the register,   
and accepted the credit card.   
  
"You mean Hannah Scott? Is she around?" asked Scully as she   
signed in.   
  
"Not at the moment, but she's sure to turn up soon." Tammy sounded  
less than pleased at the prospect. She waited for them to retrieve  
their luggage from the car before leading them upstairs to the   
empty rooms, which stood side by side. "There you go. Bath's down  
the hall." She gave them each a key.  
  
Mulder stopped her before she could leave. "What's the most  
noteworthy event that's recently occurred in this building?"   
  
"We had a little scare about a possible outbreak of Dengue Fever   
in the diner, but that's about it." Tammy turned away and   
hurried downstairs.   
  
"Dengue Fever?" Mulder repeated. "Does that really exist?"   
  
"Yes," Scully replied as she unlocked her door. "It's a   
disease spread by mosquitoes that is mainly found in tropical   
areas, but cases have been reported in this country."   
  
"That might be the only thing about this town that isn't fake."   
  
Scully ignored his snide observation and pushed open her door to  
survey the room from the threshold. Muted, tasteful furnishings   
dominated, including a double bed and two beige easy chairs that   
flanked a small table by the window. All in all, not bad.  
  
Mulder was waiting. She turned to him. "Where do you want to   
start?"  
  
"We could begin with A.J. Quartermaine," Mulder suggested, "but   
investigating potential insider trading in a town known for   
aliens and criminal masterminds seems pretty prosaic. Why not   
look into more interesting matters, such as the police commis-  
sioner? Maybe we can get some insight into how he's managed to  
keep his job for so long."   
  
"He's only held the position for about four years, and he did   
quit once," Scully pointed out.   
  
"And they took him back." Mulder shook his head. "The people in   
this town don't know when they have it good. The guy can't even   
get kidnapped like a normal person. No, he was held prisoner for   
weeks while an exact lookalike took over his life for no easily   
apparent purpose. At least the times *we've* been abducted, we   
knew why."  
  
Ignoring him, Scully announced, "The commissioner it is, then."  
  
***********   
  
They decided to eat an early supper at Kelly's before leaving.  
As Scully popped the last piece of her ham sandwich into her   
mouth, she reflected that the meal had tasted better than   
satisfactory. Too bad she couldn't say the same for the   
atmosphere. The waitress, a brown-haired girl of about 18 who   
introduced herself as Elizabeth Webber, provided perfunctory   
service before hurrying to a nearby table to talk to a Hispanic   
boy a little younger than herself. Without even trying, Scully   
had no problem hearing both sides of the conversation.  
  
Elizabeth began, "Juan, I don't know what to do about Lucky. It's  
bad enough that we all thought he was dead for almost a year when  
he was being held prisoner, but he's been acting so strangely   
since he came back. It's like he doesn't want to be around me. I   
think something was done to his brain while he was away."  
  
"Yeah, right. We'll have to meet with Nikolas and Emily about   
it," Juan replied with a glance at his watch. "Right now, I have   
to get ready for my performance tonight. Okay? Bye."  
  
With those words, Juan was gone, leaving Elizabeth to clear his  
table and take the dishes into the kitchen.  
  
Scully looked at her partner, who had also shamelessly eaves-  
dropped. "Mulder, that girl's story sounds insane. She seems to   
be fixated on her boyfriend's mental state. That other boy didn't  
even seem like he wanted to listen to her."  
  
"You know what bothers me even more?" Mulder asked rhetorically.   
"The fact that we didn't see a single fast-food restaurant while   
driving here. Maybe we can bring up that point with Commissioner   
Scorpio."   
  
"Speaking of him, we should stop wasting time and pay him a   
visit," Scully said.   
  
Mulder dropped a few bills on the table, and they went outside to  
their car. As they climbed in, Scully spotted a woman approaching  
Kelly's. "Mulder, did you get a good look at that photo of Hannah  
Scott that Skinner gave us? Does that look like her to you?"   
  
He glanced in the indicated direction. "The one and only, and   
she's alone. Skinner did emphasize that we should establish   
contact. You think we should tackle her, rather than go see the   
commissioner?"   
  
Scully caught the disappointed edge in his voice. "No, why don't   
we split up? I'll talk to Hannah. You can meet the commissioner   
and fill me in later, okay?" She got out of the car and entered   
the diner as Mulder drove away.   
  
Hannah was seated at the counter, back to the door. Pasting a   
bright smile on her face, Scully walked up to her side and   
caught the other woman's eye. "Hello, you must be Hannah Scott."  
Scully displayed her badge. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully."   
  
Hannah stared at her, her eyes wide. "You're an agent, too? I   
never would have guessed. You don't seem the type."   
  
"I assure you, I am." Scully accepted a cup of coffee from   
Elizabeth, sat to Hannah's right, and plunged in. "Assistant   
Director Walter Skinner suggested that my partner and I look you  
up while we're in town on a case."  
  
Hannah furrowed her brow. "This isn't about Sonny, is it? Or   
Agent Larkin?"  
  
"You tell me," Scully requested.  
  
"You want to know the whole story? Well, it all began last year   
when I was sent undercover to bring down Sonny Corinthos, a   
local mobster. I fell in love with him and couldn't bring myself   
to do anything that might harm him. My bosses weren't too happy   
about that, but I had to protect Sonny. Then I tried to quit.  
My contact, Agent Larkin, wouldn't accept my resignation,   
though. Then he turned out to be crooked. To top it all off, the   
FBI tried to force my father, Roy DiLucca, to bring down Sonny  
for them. When he refused, they hauled him off to prison. That  
was so unfair. I mean, sure, my dad did try to kill a man, but  
that was 20 years ago. He'd paid his dues. What more did they   
want from him?  
  
"Then my dad teamed up with Sonny to get us out from under   
the FBI's thumb. He broke out of prison and risked his life to   
find evidence that Agent Larkin has been accepting bribes from   
criminals for years. Larkin kidnapped and almost killed me, but   
my dad's a true hero. After he saved my life and captured Larkin,  
some agents tried to arrest him, but he stood right up to them   
and gave them an ultimatum: Before they could even *look* at the   
evidence against Larkin, they had to pardon my dad, grant   
amnesty to Sonny, and agree not to charge me with obstruction of  
justice. In return, we promised not to tell anyone about Larkin's  
criminal activities, because otherwise all the cases he's ever   
worked on would be jeopardized. We backed those bullies into a   
corner; they *had* to give in. And just to make sure the Bureau  
would live up to its end of the bargain, my dad made a tape   
recording of the conversation. So Sonny, my dad, and I all started  
over with a clean slate, and Larkin got what was coming to him.   
Everything worked out for the best!"   
  
As Scully violently choked on her coffee, Hannah thumped her on   
the back several times. "I know, when I first heard about the   
deal, it almost overwhelmed me, too. I thought Agent Larkin was   
going to continue his reign of terror unchecked, but justice   
prevailed. He's behind bars where he belongs, and my dad is   
safe."   
  
Reaching for a napkin, Scully asked, "But what about you?"   
  
"Me?" Hannah looked puzzled; then her face cleared. "Oh, I   
haven't been promoted yet or anything, but it doesn't matter as   
long as my dad's all right. And I really feel like my career is   
on the upswing again. I think I've found my niche here in Port   
Charles."   
  
'I'm not touching this one,' Scully thought as she sought a new   
topic of conversation.   
  
Before she could come up with one, Hannah continued. "I forgot to   
tell you some big news. Sonny's new girlfriend, Carly, got him in   
trouble again. She called in a tip to the police, and we caught   
Sonny agreeing to a drug-trafficking deal with another mobster.   
Carly said it was all a mistake and Sonny wasn't supposed to be   
involved, but we got the whole meeting on tape. It looks like   
Sonny's going to prison after all. His amnesty deal with the   
Bureau only applies to crimes committed before June 1."   
  
"Don't tell me you were involved," Scully protested.   
  
Hannah nodded. "I was there, and so was Lieutenant Taggert, my   
boyfriend. But the commissioner pulled me off the case. He,   
was afraid that outside parties would assume I was biased   
because of my prior relationship with Sonny. That's so unfair!   
But everything else is going great. Even my love life. The only   
problem is that A.J. Quartermaine won't stop pestering me. I   
just want to be his friend, and he keeps trying to turn it into   
something more. Boy, is he screwed up. He's an alcoholic who's   
off the wagon, and his dysfunctional family doesn't give him   
much support. Still, there's something about him that I'm drawn   
to."   
  
Scully cleared her throat. "But what about Sonny? No so long   
ago, you were so in love with him, you risked your career, broke   
the law, violated ethical standards, lied to your superiors...   
need I go on?"   
  
Hannah smiled wistfully. "At the time, I truly thought I was   
doing the right thing. But I've gotten over Sonny. A part of   
me will always love him, but we weren't meant to be. So, what do   
you think I should do about Taggert and A.J.?"   
  
"You really want my advice?" Scully asked.   
  
"Yes, really." Hannah leaned forward.   
  
Scully took a deep breath. "All right, then. In that case, resign   
from the FBI, leave town alone, and pursue a career in any area   
*except* law enforcement."   
  
Hannah burst into laughter. "I like you a lot, Dana. I can call   
you Dana, can't I? You have such a wonderful sense of humor."   
  
In that moment, Scully decided that the one positive aspect of   
the situation was that at least Mulder wasn't stuck in the diner   
with her. No, *he* was out obtaining valuable information from   
the police commissioner. If only she were there instead...   
  
end 1/8  
  
  
  



	2. Ch. 2

  
TITLE: The Port Charles Files 2/8  
by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com)   
  
***********   
  
Meanwhile, armed with the local map, Mulder made his way to the   
police station without incident. There, he approached the   
receptionist, who was chewing bubble gum and reading the "Bedside  
Astrologer" column in "Cosmopolitan" while the phone at her   
elbow rang unceasingly.   
  
"Excuse me." Mulder waited until the woman looked up. "I'd like   
to see Commissioner Scorpio."   
  
"Sorry, he's not in."   
  
"Do you know when he will be?" Mulder asked.   
  
The receptionist blew a large bubble before responding. "It's   
hard to say. He's in and out all the time. If he's not running   
off to argue with his wife about the well-being of her children,   
he's fighting with the FBI over who has jurisdiction in the   
latest arrests."   
  
"Who's in charge when he's not around? Does this place run   
itself?" Mulder wondered.   
  
The receptionist shrugged. "Yeah, more or less."   
  
"Have you tried reaching the commissioner today?"   
  
"No. He'll show up when he shows up."   
  
"Thank you for your help," Mulder told the unconcerned   
receptionist, who promptly returned to her horoscope as he left   
the station.   
  
He started back toward Kelly's, but changed his mind and made   
for Commissioner Scorpio's home address. Arriving at 1020 North   
Yale, he spotted a police car in the driveway and knew he had   
guessed correctly; the commissioner was home. He parked in the   
street and went to ring the front doorbell. Almost immediately, a  
dark-haired man of about his age opened the door.   
  
"Commissioner Mac Scorpio," Mulder greeted, recognizing him from   
the photo printout provided by Byers. He showed his identification.  
"I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI."   
  
Mac flinched.   
  
"Is anything wrong, commissioner?" Mulder asked.   
  
"Yeah, I hope you don't intend to overstep your jurisdiction the   
way just about every other FBI agent except Hannah Scott does,"   
Mac said in an extremely watered-down Australian accent. He took  
a half-step backward. "You might as well come in."   
  
Not giving the other man a chance to change his mind, Mulder   
edged past him into the living room, and sat on the sofa.   
  
Mac selected an easy chair and looked expectantly at his   
visitor. "Well, what brings you to my home?"   
  
"I'm looking into various patterns of strange occurrences that   
have taken place in Port Charles over the years. For instance,   
commissioner, I understand you were kidnapped a few years ago.   
Can you explain your kidnappers' motive?"   
  
"You want to know about my kidnapping?" Mac echoed. "That's an   
odd request, but all right. I was taken by two people named Tess   
and James, and it had to do with a plot to kill Jasper Jacks, or   
to pretend to try to kill him, or something similar."   
  
Mulder scrawled a few notes for Scully's benefit. "Can you be   
more specific?"   
  
Mac shrugged. "Not really. It didn't make much sense even at the   
time."   
  
"Isn't it true that James resembled you so strongly that he was   
able to trick your friends and family into believing that he   
*was* you? How do you explain that fact? Was he an alien   
shapeshifter?"   
  
"*What*?" Mac roared. "An alien shapeshifter? No, the guy just   
happened to look like me. Where are you getting these crazy   
ideas from?"   
  
"Considering that your own niece, Robin, befriended an alien in   
1990, I don't think my theories are so crazy. I'd like to talk to   
Robin about that experience, as well as the times she was   
kidnapped," Mulder suggested.   
  
"Sorry," said Mac in a more gleeful than regretful tone, "but   
Robin is away at school, in Paris."   
  
"What about your wife, the Aztec princess?" Mulder said   
optimistically.   
  
"Thankfully, she and her daughters are out of town," Mac   
reported with a frown. "Look, are you here to investigate any   
recent, mainstream crimes? Because I don't care to discuss my   
personal life with you."   
  
'Time to back down,' Mulder realized. Recalling Skinner's   
instructions, he said, "I am interested in the case of a missing  
local police officer. Is there any news on him?"   
  
"No," Mac said grimly. "Ted Wilson was working undercover, and   
we suspect foul play, which would make it our second murder this   
summer."   
  
"What about the first?"   
  
"It was of Stefan Cassadine, a local businessman. But we know who   
killed him. We have an open-and-shut case against Luke Spencer."   
  
"Commissioner, are you aware that Spencer has at least twice   
previously been falsely accused of murder or attempted murder?"   
  
Mac briefly looked taken aback before his expression hardened.   
"Those incidents reinforce my belief that Spencer is guilty.   
Death seems to follow him around. And consider the evidence:   
Spencer threatened Cassadine's life, Cassadine had scheduled an   
appointment with Spencer on the night he disappeared, and   
Cassadine hasn't been heard from in weeks. Besides which, Chloe   
Morgan had a psychic vision in which Cassadine was aboard his   
mother, Helena's, yacht, where he drank from a glass and   
collapsed. Poison was found in Spencer's safe. When confronted   
with the evidence and arrested, he seized the first opportunity   
to escape, and remains on the run. Since then, we've learned   
that the Cassadine yacht was not in its berth on the night of   
Stefan's disappearance, and we've discovered a key to the yacht   
among Spencer's belongings."   
  
"You keep saying disappearance," Mulder noted. "You don't have a   
body?"   
  
"We believe Spencer carefully disposed of it."   
  
Sensing a vulnerable spot, Mulder attacked. "Why are you so sure   
you have the right man? Your department has a history of   
charging innocent people with murder."   
  
Mac bristled. "We work extremely hard to do a thorough job. Yes,   
we make the occasional mistake, but overall, the Port Charles   
Police Department's record compares favorably to that of any   
other department in the country."   
  
"Are we talking about the same country?" Mulder asked. "Commis-   
sioner, can you explain why innocent people are repeatedly   
accused of murder, and sometimes even convicted? Do they all use   
the same incompetent lawyer, or does the police department frame   
them each and every time? May I remind you of the 1996 Laura   
Spencer case? The 1997 Brenda Barrett incident? The 1998 arrest   
of Alan Quartermaine? The 1998 Stefan Cassadine--"   
  
Red-faced, Mac interrupted. "All right, all right. So we aren't   
perfect. We definitely have an airtight case this time, though.   
I'd stake my reputation on it."   
  
Mulder glanced at his notes. "So, how do you think the psychic-   
vision part of the evidence will hold up in court?"   
  
"Frankly, Chloe Morgan's insistence that she can see through the   
eyes of Helena Cassadine is the most ridiculous scenario I've   
ever heard," Mac admitted. "But she's serious. She even kept track  
of these visions by writing them down in a dream book that she   
gave to me. She's trying to convince me that Helena killed Stefan  
and wants to murder her next."   
  
"Have you read this dream book yet?"   
  
Mac shook his head. "Who has time? I did skim it, but there's no   
solid evidence of anything."   
  
"Would you mind if I read it?"   
  
"Be my guest." Mac crossed the room to his briefcase, snapped it   
open, and pulled out a small, battered book. "Here you go." He   
tossed it to Mulder and was about to resume his seat when the   
phone rang. "Excuse me."   
  
As Mac answered the phone, Mulder flipped open the book. Words   
like "kill," "blind," "tumor," and "murder" met his eyes. At the  
same time, he realized that at least one side of the low-voiced   
conversation taking place just feet away sounded distressingly   
similar to what he was reading. Stray phrases such as "mind-  
altering," "nightmare," "insane," and "memories" drifted to his   
ears before Mac hung up and turned back to him. "I'm sorry, but   
an emergency has arisen. I have to go."   
  
'Damn!' Mulder thought. 'And I had him completely on the   
defensive.' Aloud, he said, "I hope we'll get a chance to   
continue this conversation soon, when my partner can also be   
present. Will you be at the police station tomorrow?"   
  
Mac strode to the front door and held it open. "Your guess is as   
good as mine. If I have some free time, I'll try to put in an   
appearance."   
  
Mulder took the hint and moved outside, but squeezed in one   
final question. "How can I find out more about the Wilson and   
Cassadine cases?"   
  
Mac slammed the front door behind himself. "Try Lieutenant   
Taggert for Wilson, and Detective Garcia for Cassadine."   
  
"Thank you..." Mulder began, but Mac dashed to his car. He took   
off like the proverbial bat out of hell, giving no further insight  
as to what latest disaster had occurred in Port Charles. It was a  
good time to check in with Scully. Mulder pulled out his cell   
phone and dialed her number.   
  
"Scully," she answered after the first ring.   
  
"Scully, it's me. How's your day going?" he asked.   
  
She sighed heavily. "Well, Hannah Scott is a complete basket   
case, and she wants to be friends."   
  
"That bad, huh?" he said sympathetically. "Would it make you   
feel any better to know that it only took me about five minutes   
to completely alienate -- no pun intended -- the police commis-   
sioner?"   
  
"Honestly, no," she replied.  
  
"Well, then, my afternoon's been a complete waste, too," Mulder   
said.   
  
"I didn't say mine was a waste," Scully demurred. "I've learned   
quite a lot, and none of it's good. Meet me at Kelly's as soon as   
you can."   
  
***********   
  
Mulder shifted position in the more comfortable armchair in   
Scully's room as he attempted to make sense of the stunning   
information she had related to him. "So let me get this straight.  
The mobster and the informant blackmailed the Bureau into   
agreeing to leave them alone in exchange for their silence about  
Agent Larkin's many crimes. No wonder Skinner sent us here. It's   
like the FBI that Hannah Scott interacts with bears no relation   
to the *real* FBI."   
  
Unable to disagree, Scully nodded. "Assuming Hannah was telling  
the truth -- and who would make up a story that stupid -- I have  
only one question: How did she get hired, and why hasn't she been  
fired?"  
  
"That's two questions," Mulder pointed out.  
  
"No, it's really one: Who's Hannah been sleeping with? Besides  
the mobster, that is. But enough about her. How did you make out  
with the commissioner?"   
  
Silently, Mulder extended his scribbled notes. Scully leaned   
forward from her perch on the bed to grab them, then sat back and   
scanned the lines. Within a couple of minutes, she had absorbed   
the gist of the meeting. "The commissioner said to talk to   
Lieutenant Taggert? Mulder, that's Hannah's boyfriend. That fact  
does not exactly inspire my confidence in his abilities. We need  
to talk to all of these people. Well, the ones we can find,   
anyway."   
  
Mulder jumped up. "No, I have something else in mind first. A  
surprise. Just come with me."  
  
***********   
  
Twenty minutes later, Mulder guided Scully through the doorway of  
a club. As they entered the dimly lit building, jazz music and   
chattering voices assaulted their ears. Scully paused to survey  
their surroundings. "Why are we here?"   
  
"We are conducting research," Mulder replied. "This happens to be  
a very important place. This is Luke's Nightclub."   
  
He knew the exact moment the full impact of his statement struck   
her, because her eyes widened slightly. "This is *the* nightclub,   
isn't it?"   
  
"The club where Felicia Jones gave birth under a table? Yes," he   
confirmed. "There was also a nasty shootout here in December of   
1997. All in all, this isn't the safest place to be. But then,   
where in Port Charles *is*?"   
  
They found seats in a vacant booth against the far wall and   
checked out the scene. Almost immediately, Mulder spotted a   
familiar-looking group standing near a stage: an older woman with  
red hair, a blonde woman, a fair-haired teenage boy, and a dark-  
haired little girl. "See there?" He pointed for Scully's benefit.  
"Those are the Spencers, minus Luke, who is currently on the run.  
They had their own section in 'The Sun,' complete with color   
photos. Every member of that family has at one time or another   
been presumed dead, except for the daughter. But she's only five;  
her time will come."   
  
As they watched, a man squeezed past the Spencers and mounted the  
stage. He was followed by several musicians and Juan, the boy   
they had heard Elizabeth talking to at Kelly's. The man adjusted   
the microphone and addressed the crowd, calling, "Hi, everyone!"   
  
A chorus of "Hey, Roy!" and "Hi, yourself!" greeted him.   
  
Roy continued, "We have a special treat for you tonight. Now,   
I know this is a blues club, but even though his music doesn't   
fall under that umbrella, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to   
promote one of Port Charles' own: Juan Santiago, accompanied by   
The Idle Rich! Juan is performing his signature song, 'We Got The  
Night.'"   
  
Roy exited the stage, the crowd quieted, the music began, the   
singer warbled the opening lines, and Mulder and Scully winced in   
unison.   
  
They listened to several bars before more or less recovering. Then,   
shuddering, Mulder glanced at his partner, whose jaw had dropped.   
"I haven't heard singing this bad since you did 'Joy to the World'   
in Florida," he shouted, straining to be heard above the cacophony.  
  
Seemingly not offended by his opinion of her vocal talents,   
Scully yelled back, "It's a good thing the locals support him,   
because I don't think anyone outside of this town would!"   
  
The occupants of the neighboring booth then waved at them to be   
quiet, and Mulder and Scully were forced to sit in miserable   
noncommunication for the duration of the seemingly interminable   
number. At the conclusion, the rest of the audience burst into   
frenzied applause. Juan and his back-up left the stage, and the   
sounds of soft jazz and conversation quickly filled the room.   
  
"Somebody better tell that kid to get a day job," Mulder mused.   
  
Following another train of thought, Scully asked, "Mulder, do you  
remember the man who introduced him? I think that was Roy   
DiLucca, Hannah's father."  
  
"Maybe if we sit here long enough, the entire town will come to   
us. Or maybe we should just call it a day and try again   
tomorrow," Mulder suggested.  
  
"A fresh start? Good idea," Scully agreed. "It has to be more   
normal than today."  
  
Not that he thought she was right, but Mulder wasn't about to   
argue at that point. He was sure that once Scully got a better   
look at Port Charles, she would have to go along with his  
assessment of the town.  
  
***********  
  
On their first full day in Port Charles, Scully woke up at 7:21  
a.m. and lay staring at the ceiling. Following their return from   
Luke's last night, she had typed the case notes into her laptop   
and argued with Mulder over whether Port Charles was truly as   
unusual as he believed. The notes had gotten finished, but the   
argument had ended in a draw. Their work today would be more   
conclusive, she hoped as she pulled herself out of bed and got  
ready.   
  
When she finished, it was still too early to go out, so Scully   
opted against seeing if Mulder was awake. She was about to   
consult her notes to see who headed the list for the day's   
interviews when she spotted a small book lying next to the case  
file. It was Chloe Morgan's "dream book" that Mulder had   
borrowed from the commissioner. He must have left it there   
yesterday. The woman's story about being able to see through the  
eyes of Helena Cassadine sounded ridiculous, but the diary might  
make for some good reading. Scully curled up on the bed, flipped   
the book open, and began with random entries.   
  
"Afterwards, I fell asleep and had another dream. Jax was in   
this one. He looked at me and said, at this point, it would be  
his pleasure to murder me.   
  
"Woke up around dawn feeling dizzy. The bed was spinning. I   
can't admit this to anyone, but a part of me wonders if I'll   
ever get well.   
  
"The dream is silent. Stefan drinks wine, then drops his   
glass. He falls to the floor and knocks over the music box. It  
falls, too. The dream felt so real. What if Stefan is dead?"   
  
Scully nearly laughed aloud at that last entry. The smooth,   
flowing handwriting made the words easy to read, but not any more  
believable. She scanned the pages for nearly another hour, before  
being interrupted by a knock on the door. She laid aside the   
book and answered.   
  
As expected, Mulder stood outside. "Come on, Scully, I have  
something to show you." He took hold of her arm and led her down  
the hallway.  
  
She went along unresistingly. "What would this something be?"  
  
"Something that will prove to you that Port Charles isn't a  
normal town."  
  
That, she had to see. She allowed Mulder to usher her down the   
stairs and out the front door of Kelly's. He proceeded to a side   
street and stopped.  
  
"Well, Mulder?" Scully asked in a tone that she hoped implied,   
'Why did you drag me out here when I would much rather be inside  
eating breakfast?'  
  
He gestured around. "Examine the streets and sidewalks carefully.  
What do you see?"   
  
She surveyed the area. "Pavement. People. Cars, trucks, minivans.  
Litter -- bits of paper, candy wrappers, soda cans. Nothing special.   
What am I supposed to notice?"   
  
"Nothing," he repeated. "That's precisely it. There's not a   
Morley butt in sight. Or any other brand, for that matter. Isn't   
that a thought-provoking, if welcome, change?"   
  
"I've also noticed that nearly everyone is thin," Scully pointed   
out. "Maybe the townspeople are just extremely health-conscious."  
  
"The answer to that is an emphatic *no*. Although rarely stricken  
with the flu or the common cold, an abnormal number of Port   
Charles residents become drug addicts or alcoholics, and there's   
a pretty high incidence of mysterious ailments unknown to the   
rest of the world. And how do you explain some of these other  
things, like the many, many, many people who have been falsely  
presumed dead?"   
  
"I'm thinking you fit right in around here. You've been presumed   
dead a time or two yourself over the years." Scully shrugged.   
"Okay, I give up. How do *you* explain it?"   
  
"Maybe vampirism, like that one case in Texas where we met the   
buck-toothed sheriff? Anyway, that's the best theory I've come   
up with so far."   
  
"Oh, give me a break. First, Sheriff Hartwell did not have buck   
teeth. Second, I don't for a minute think there are any vampires   
within flying distance of here."   
  
"Fine, you come up with a better theory," Mulder challenged. "It   
would really help if you pitched in and gave me your opinion, you   
know."   
  
"I can give you my opinion right now," Scully offered.   
  
He shook his head. "No, thanks. You have to put in some effort   
first."   
  
"What sort of effort?" she asked suspiciously.   
  
He held up a piece of paper with two long, neatly penciled lists,   
and indicated the left-hand column. "See this tally of local   
abductees?" Gesturing to the other, longer, column, he continued,   
"And this one of presumed deaths, in which the subjects turned   
out to be alive? I suspect that these people were all victims of   
alien abductions. After all, we know an alien landed here at one  
point."   
  
"No, we do *not*--" Scully began.   
  
"Just go with me here," Mulder interrupted. "We need to get to   
Spoon Island and find any possible traces of extra-terrestrial   
life."  
  
"You mean, we need to wrap up the A.J. Quartermaine matter   
first," Scully stated. "No arguments. That's why Skinner sent us  
here, and that's what we're going to do."  
  
Mulder hesitated, then nodded. "You're right. The sooner we get  
him out of the way, the sooner we can look into more interesting   
matters, like the alien."   
  
"Great. You can go look up his phone number and make the call.   
I'll wait for you in Kelly's. If you can't reach him, we'll go to  
the police station instead." Together, they entered the diner.   
Mulder went upstairs to look up the phone number, while Scully   
sat at the nearest empty table to wait for him. Looking around  
the room, she saw the waitress, Elizabeth Webber, taking an order  
from a large group of customers. Elizabeth's strange comments   
from the previous day came to mind; it seemed like a good idea   
to talk to her about them as soon as she was free.   
  
Elizabeth was still writing on her pad when Mulder came down-   
stairs and took the other chair at Scully's table. "No need to   
go anywhere. A.J. Quartermaine wants to meet us here. He's on his   
way."   
  
"He's probably hoping to run into Hannah," Scully guessed. "That   
works out well for us." She turned as the waitress approached   
with her order pad ready. "Elizabeth," Scully greeted her. "I   
was hoping to talk to you. Yesterday, we overheard you mention   
your boyfriend, Lucky, and his odd behavior after he returned   
from being held prisoner for nearly a year."   
  
Elizabeth looked hesitant. "That's all you want to ask me   
about?"   
  
"Is there anything else you want to discuss?" Mulder asked.   
  
"No, not at all," Elizabeth said quickly. She pulled an extra   
chair next to Scully and sat down. "No one else has been able to  
help with this problem, so maybe the FBI can. Lucky's been   
blowing hot and cold with me. I can't figure out his behavior.   
Last year, there was a fire in the building where he lived, and   
we all thought that the body that was found was Lucky's. But   
earlier this year, Cesar Faison told Lucky's father, Luke, that   
Lucky was alive. Less than a minute after that, Faison died in a  
boat explosion, so Luke couldn't get any more information. Then   
Lucky showed up in Canada, but he ran away when his parents found  
him. He finally came back to Port Charles and said that Faison   
had kidnapped him and Helena Cassadine rescued him. Lucky's so   
different now, though. He keeps telling me I should be with his   
brother Nikolas, but I don't understand why. Before the fire,   
Lucky and I were in love and were planning to move to New York   
together."   
  
"How do you think we can help?" Scully asked.   
  
"Well, kidnapping is a federal offense, right?" Elizabeth waited   
for Scully's nod, then continued. "If you can prove that Helena   
was involved in Lucky's kidnapping, she'd go to prison."   
  
"There's one problem," Scully pointed out. "According to what you   
said, Lucky claims that Helena rescued him."   
  
"That's exactly it!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "He might not remember   
everything that happened. He's been having memory lapses ever   
since he came back. I think Helena is somehow responsible."   
  
"One more medical mystery to look into," Mulder muttered.   
  
Elizabeth glanced toward the doorway. "If you want to talk to a   
doctor, Lucky's grandmother, Lesley Webber, just walked in. I   
have to get back to work. If you can do anything to help Lucky,   
please try." She jumped up and hurried into the kitchen.   
  
Mulder studied the new arrival, a red-haired woman approximately  
60 years old. "What do you say we squeeze Lesley Webber into our   
schedule, Scully?"   
  
end 2/8  
  
  



	3. Ch. 3

  
TITLE: The Port Charles Files 3/8  
by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com)   
  
***********   
  
"You want to talk to Lesley Webber, Mulder?" Scully said. "Why?   
I doubt she's practiced medicine since before her grandson was   
born, and if we're to believe your tabloid, she was presumed dead  
during most of that time."   
  
"But she's been back from the dead for around three years, right?   
And she might have some insight into Lucky's condition. It's   
worth a try."   
  
"All right," Scully agreed. "Let's see if she can tell us   
anything." She led Mulder to the counter, where Lesley and   
Elizabeth were talking.   
  
Elizabeth broke off from her conversation with Lesley and drew   
the older woman's attention to the agents. "Lesley, these are   
FBI Agents Mulder and Scully. They're trying to help Lucky."   
  
"Can you answer a few questions for us?" Mulder asked.   
  
Lesley nodded. "I'll do my best."   
  
"Thank you." As Elizabeth went into the kitchen, Scully led   
Mulder and Lesley back to their table, where they all sat down.   
  
Mulder began the questioning. "We understand that Lucky has been   
acting out of character ever since he returned from being   
falsely presumed dead. Can you give us any details?"   
  
"Not many," Lesley admitted. "I've barely seen him lately. He's   
been avoiding his family. The only relatives he seeks out are his   
brother and his little sister."   
  
"What about his supposed death?" Scully asked. "What proof did   
you have that he had died?"   
  
"A body was found in the building, and no one except Lucky lived   
there. And the dental records exactly matched his," Lesley   
explained.   
  
"So you think someone switched the records?" Mulder guessed.   
  
Lesley nodded. "We all thought Lucky was dead. I don't know what   
else I can tell you that would help with anything."   
  
"Well, thank you for your time," Scully said.   
  
On a hunch, Mulder interjected, "Wait. By any chance, do you know   
A.J. Quartermaine?"   
  
"Know him? I helped deliver him during the blizzard of 1979,"   
Lesley replied. "We were at the Quartermaine mansion, the power   
was out, and it was a breech birth. Monica Quartermaine said that   
my husband was A.J.'s father, but she turned out to be wrong.   
That was one of the most memorable days of my life."   
  
"You said 1979?" Mulder repeated. "Was it near the beginning of   
the year, or the end?"   
  
"It was in December," Lesley stated.   
  
"Are you sure?" Mulder pressed.   
  
"I would hardly forget the details of an incident like that   
one," Lesley assured him.   
  
Elizabeth trotted over to their table with a white take-out bag.   
"Here you are, Lesley."  
  
Lesley accepted the bag and stood. "Thanks, Elizabeth." She   
turned to Mulder and Scully. "If you think of anything else you   
want to know about Lucky, please let me know."   
  
"Here." Scully handed her a card with her cell-phone number   
circled. "You can reach me anytime."   
  
"Thank you, I will."   
  
Lesley exited the diner, and Elizabeth went to take an order at   
the other side of the room.   
  
Scully looked at Mulder. "All right, why did you ask those   
questions about A.J. Quartermaine? What did you think you would   
learn?"   
  
"Don't you see, Scully?" Mulder said with barely restrained   
enthusiasm. "A.J. was born in December of 1979. It is now August   
of 2000. He's 20 years old, yet he's the town drunk. Doesn't that   
strike you as being a little out of the ordinary?"   
  
"No. It doesn't," Scully said firmly. "A lot of people are   
underage drinkers."   
  
"Do a lot of people both drink while underage, *and* engage in   
possible insider trading?" Mulder paused to let the incongruity   
of those two actions sink in. "That age discrepancy is one more   
puzzle to solve, and it might lead to answers to several other   
mysteries."   
  
"I think I have an easy solution," Scully informed him. "Lesley   
must have been confused about the date. Being in a catatonic   
state for 13 years, give or take, can have that effect. She got   
the year wrong, that's all."   
  
"We'll soon see who is right," Mulder said confidently. "The   
minute A.J. shows up."   
  
Scully turned toward the doorway, where a dark-haired man dressed  
in a business suit stood. "At a guess, that's A.J. Quartermaine   
right there. Does he look like he's 20?"  
  
Mulder eyed the newcomer, who indeed looked decidedly older than  
20. "How do we know that's A.J. Quartermaine? And even if he is,   
some people don't look their age."   
  
"If he isn't A.J., why is he coming over here?" Scully countered.  
  
Before Mulder could reply, the man reached the table and slid   
into Elizabeth's vacant seat, next to Scully and across from   
Mulder. "You two must be the FBI agents. A.J. Quartermaine, at   
your service. So, what do you want to see me about? My brother   
the mobster?"   
  
Mulder already had the feeling that A.J.'s offhand attitude would  
not go over well with Scully, and his impression was confirmed when  
she said coolly, "Would it surprise you to know, Mr. Quarter-   
maine, that *your* actions are the ones in question?"   
  
He smiled, appearing unfazed. "Call me A.J., please. And your   
first name is...?"   
  
"You can call me Agent Scully. My partner is Agent Mulder."   
  
A.J. leaned back in his chair. "Well, agents, what have I done to  
warrant your attention? Are you investigating my discrimination   
case against Bobbie Jones?"   
  
A case about which they had no knowledge, Mulder thought. He   
answered cautiously, "We might look into it if you give us a few  
more details."   
  
"Bobbie owns a brownstone and rents out rooms, but she wouldn't  
let me have one and she refused to sell the building to me,"   
A.J. summarized.   
  
"We'll add her name to our list," Scully promised. "But right   
now, we're more interested in the allegations of insider trading  
that have been made against you."   
  
"So my grandfather made good on his threat and reported me, huh?  
Why am I not surprised? Look, he wanted to unload a loser of a   
company, I took it off his hands, and it happened to undergo a   
massive turnaround in fortune. I didn't have any inside   
information. It's just that everything I touch -- investment-  
wise, at least -- turns to gold these days. Didn't you talk to   
Agent Hannah Scott? She looked into the situation and realized  
I didn't do anything wrong. Her report should be around  
somewhere."   
  
"Hannah Scott?" Scully froze. "Hannah was involved in a prelimi-  
nary investigation?"   
  
A.J. nodded. "She cleared my name. Said that the accusation was   
groundless."   
  
"Can you give us a few minutes alone?" Scully asked.   
  
"Sure." A.J. pushed away from the table and sauntered across the  
room, where he leaned against the wall and stared at them.   
  
Scully turned to Mulder. "A.J.'s story sounds plausible, and I   
was inclined to believe him. *Until* he brought up Hannah's   
name, and how she believes in his innocence."   
  
"So now what? You think he's guilty?"   
  
"I don't trust Hannah's judgement for a second. We can't drop the  
subject."   
  
"I think you're right," Mulder agreed. "A.J.'s grandfather,   
Edward Quartermaine, made the accusation. We should see what   
proof he has and take it from there."   
  
"That seems like the best course of action." Scully motioned A.J.  
back to the table.   
  
"So, what did you decide?" he asked as he sat down.   
  
"We need to look more deeply into this matter," Mulder replied.   
  
"You're going to talk to my grandfather, aren't you?" A.J.   
guessed. "It won't do you any good. He doesn't have a thing on   
me. He's just mad that I made money off a company he quit on."   
  
"We'll get back with you after we see him," Scully said.   
  
But again, as he had done during the conversation with Lesley,   
Mulder extended the conversation, asking A.J., "Before you   
leave, Mr. Quartermaine, can you show us some identification?"   
  
"What, do you think I'm an imposter? I don't know anyone who   
would want to impersonate me." A.J. laughed shortly as he pulled   
his wallet out of his pocket and located his driver's license,   
which he handed to Scully.   
  
She scanned the contents, then passed the license to Mulder. He  
sought the birth date: 11/18/72. It couldn't be right; it   
contradicted Lesley Webber's statement. He remained staring at   
the license until Scully gently tugged it away and returned it to  
A.J.   
  
"You can go. We know where to reach you."   
  
"You're going to visit my grandfather? There's an ELQ board   
meeting at the mansion today, but that's okay. You'll have a   
great time." A.J. strolled away, smirking.   
  
In his wake, Mulder puzzled, "How could that license have said   
1972? It doesn't make sense."   
  
"What doesn't make sense is your assumption that Lesley Webber   
was right about that man being 20 years old," Scully corrected   
him. "What we should be focusing on is this insider-trading   
business, and we're going to see Edward Quartermaine to get it   
straightened out."   
  
***********  
  
"Here we are: 66 Harbor View Road." Mulder braked the Dodge to a  
stop in front of the Quartermaine mansion.   
  
Scully surveyed the large, white house and its sweeping, well-  
maintained grounds as she stepped out of the car. "The sooner we   
get this over with..."   
  
In silent agreement, they made their way to the front door of the  
mansion. There, they hesitated; shouting from inside the building  
was audible.   
  
"Mulder, do you think something's wrong?" Scully strained to make  
out individual words, but the roar was indecipherable.   
  
Mulder pounded on the door and rang the bell for good measure,  
even as he said, "I doubt anyone can hear me inside with all that  
noise."   
  
It appeared he was right; they waited nearly a minute, but no one  
came to let them in. After another barrage on the door also   
failed to produce results, Scully said, "We'd better try to see   
what's going on. I wonder if..." She tried the doorknob, which   
turned easily. She gently pushed at the door, and wasn't   
surprised when it opened with no resistance. "You'd think that   
with all the crime in town, they'd have learned to lock their   
doors," she said to Mulder as they entered the house.   
  
From the spacious foyer where they stood, the noise level was   
nearly deafening. The source was undoubtedly a room not far   
away; they moved to the doorway and looked in on a beautifully-  
appointed living room that contained seven occupants, six of   
whom appeared to be trying to outshout each other. A square-  
jawed, white-haired old man screamed at a thirtysomething,   
dimpled man who yelled right back. A middle-aged blonde woman   
held a spirited conversation with a man of a similar age, and   
the dark-haired, swarthy man standing behind the sofa appeared   
to be having a difference of opinion with the tall, blonde fellow  
next to him. The only quiet occupant was a little old lady who  
sat in a motorized wheelchair. She was the first to catch sight   
of the visitors, and she raised a hand for silence. One by one,   
the others became aware that they had an audience, and the   
cacophony died down.   
  
The peace promptly shattered when the old man bellowed, "Who are  
you and what are you doing here?" He strode over to stand within  
arm's reach of Mulder, who pulled out his badge. "You're with the  
FBI? Whatever happened, one of those two is responsible." He  
waved at the dark man and the lighter-haired one, then shouted,  
"Reginald! Where are you? Why aren't you screening our visitors?"  
  
"Give it a rest, Edward," snapped the middle-aged woman. She   
turned to Mulder and Scully. "The windbag is my father-in-law,   
Edward Quartermaine, and that's his wife, Lila." She nodded   
toward the old lady. "I'm Monica, and this is my husband Alan   
and our nephew, Ned Ashton. Those two," she eyed the dark man and  
the blonde, "are Sonny Corinthos and Jasper Jacks. We are  
conducting an ELQ board meeting, hence the horrendous level of   
noise. Now, what business do you have here?"   
  
Mulder performed his interrupted introduction. "We're Agents   
Mulder and Scully, and--"   
  
He was interrupted again, this time by Sonny. "Did you say  
'Scully'? As in, 'Joe Scully'?"   
  
"You mean, do I have a relative named Joe?" Scully thought for a  
moment. "No, not as far as I know. Why?"   
  
Sonny shook his head and turned away.   
  
Jax stepped forward, and said, in a strong Australian accent,  
"Sonny's disapproval is recommendation enough for me."   
  
"Me, too," Edward agreed.   
  
"Well, that's fortunate, Mr. Quartermaine," said Mulder, "because  
you're exactly who we came to see."   
  
Edward looked taken aback and began to bluster, but Lila steered  
her wheelchair beside him. "Why don't we go outside, dear, so the  
others can continue the meeting?"   
  
As Scully watched in amazement, Edward shut his mouth and meekly   
trailed his wife to the French doors and outside the house. She  
and Mulder followed their path. As they shut the door, the   
room behind them again exploded into a babble of voices.   
  
In the relative quiet of outdoors, Edward crossed his arms and  
frowned. "Well, what do you want?"   
  
"Now, Edward, these people are our guests," Lila chided. "Be nice  
to them."   
  
Edward looked like he was restraining himself from making a   
pointed comment, but he remained silent.   
  
"Mr. Quartermaine, you should know why we're here," Scully   
pointed out. "You reported your grandson, A.J., for alleged   
insider trading."   
  
Lila gasped. "Oh, Edward, you didn't!"   
  
He winced and dropped his arms to his sides. "It seemed uncanny   
at the time, how he made so much money off of that company. I   
never would have predicted it. And I thought it might throw a   
scare into him if the FBI looked into the situation. God knows   
Hannah Scott's involvement didn't make a whit of difference, so  
I went over her head. That boy will never straighten out if he   
doesn't get a push, you know."   
  
Lila shook her head and sighed.  
  
"So, you don't have any proof that your grandson has committed   
any crimes?" Mulder asked.   
  
"No," Edward admitted. "I just thought...oh, I don't know what I  
thought, but it obviously didn't work out!"   
  
Lila intervened. "Edward, please go back inside and finish up   
with the meeting. I'll join you in a few moments."   
  
"Oh, all right. But don't let these people trick you into saying  
anything foolish," he warned as he moved away.   
  
Lila waited until Edward was safely indoors before she addressed  
Mulder and Scully. "I must apologize for my husband's behavior.  
His bark is far worse than his bite, but sometimes, he goes too  
far. I do hope you won't hold his behavior against A.J."   
  
Scully looked at Mulder, who shook his head slightly. "I don't  
think you need to worry about that, Mrs. Quartermaine," she   
assured the woman.   
  
"Oh, please, call me Lila," she invited. "And if I can help you   
in any way, don't hesitate to ask."   
  
"Maybe you can," Mulder replied. "If any noteworthy events   
whatsoever occur in town, such as the emergence of a top-secret  
energy disk, or a psychotic twin, we'd appreciate being   
informed." He handed Lila a card with his cell-phone number   
written on it. "We're staying at Kelly's Diner."   
  
Lila smiled. "A lovely, homey place. Several of us Quartermaines  
lived there for a time, during the period when we lost ELQ and   
were nearly penniless. But after I brought out my Pickle-lila   
relish recipe, we made a new fortune and returned to the   
mansion. We do pull together when circumstances warrant."   
  
Appearances certainly were deceiving, Scully reflected. Looking  
at Lila, you would never know she was an entrepreneur who ran   
the family, putting aside the fact that she had once held   
conversations with her husband's portrait while he was presumed  
dead. But their business at the Quartermaines' seemed to be   
over.   
  
Mulder evidently didn't think so, as he asked, "Lila, when is   
A.J.'s birthday?"   
  
"November 18, 1972."   
  
Scully had had enough. Mulder's insistence on bringing up the   
supposed mystery of A.J.'s age had gotten on her nerves once too  
often. She smiled for Lila's sake. "Thank you for your help. We  
should be going." She turned away, and saw a nearby shrub moving.  
An eavesdropper?   
  
She glanced at Mulder to alert him, and Lila looked toward the   
bushes, as well. "Emily, dear?" she called.   
  
For several seconds, nothing happened. Then, slowly, a teenage   
girl with long, straight, brown hair, crept into view. "Yes,   
Grandmother?"   
  
"These are FBI Agents Mulder and Scully," Lila said. "I won't   
ask why you were listening to our conversation, but perhaps you  
know some information that would be of use to them. I'll give   
you some privacy." She briskly drove to the nearest door, and   
Mulder hurried over to hold it open for her. She smiled her   
thanks as she maneuvered into the house.   
  
Scully, meanwhile, studied the girl, who looked very nervous.   
Could she know anything of importance? Lila had implied so.   
"Hello, Emily," Scully said gently.   
  
"I've never been to a rave," Emily blurted.   
  
"Rave?" said Mulder as he returned from helping Lila.   
  
"Isn't that what you wanted to talk about?" Emily said, her eyes   
darting away. "I mean, I heard that the police have been cracking  
down on them, and I thought maybe that's why you were here."   
  
Emily was too jumpy for this subject to be ignored, Scully   
decided. "We *are* interested in the raves," she said. "And, of   
course, in any other unique situations you've run across   
lately."   
  
"I've been involved in things much stranger than a rave," the   
girl immediately offered. "And so has my friend, Lucky Spencer.  
He was kidnapped and has been having memory lapses since his   
return. I'm not supposed to talk about to anyone, but you're the  
FBI so I guess that's okay."   
  
"Can you tell us more about these memory lapses?" Scully   
prompted.   
  
Emily looked relieved. "Um, yeah. One day I was talking to him   
and he zoned out right in the middle of the conversation, like he  
couldn't even hear me anymore. He said that's happened to him   
before."   
  
"And Lucky is Elizabeth Webber's boyfriend," Mulder said.   
  
"Yeah," said Emily. "I mean, in a way. They broke up, like my  
boyfriend and me, but Juan and I are kind of back together now  
so I hope Elizabeth and Lucky make it, too. They're perfect for   
each other."   
  
"Juan as in Juan Santiago, the singer?" Mulder asked.   
  
"You know Juan?" Emily said.   
  
"We've heard him...sing," Scully replied, mentally cringing at   
the memory.   
  
Emily smiled her first toothy smile of the conversation. "Juan's   
going to be a huge star. He's been busy all week at the studio   
working on a new song. L&B Records has the next Ricky Martin on   
its hands!"   
  
"So, aside from Lucky's memory lapses and Juan's impending   
superstardom, you can't think of any other recent odd events?"   
Mulder asked.   
  
Emily shook her head and looked away.   
  
"Well, I don't have any other questions," Scully said. "Do you,   
Mulder?"   
  
He took her lead and agreed. "That's it for me. Thanks for your  
help, Emily."   
  
Emily answered with an unenthusiastic, "Sure, anytime."   
  
Since entering the house and then exiting through the front door   
would involve encountering the ELQ board members again, Scully  
instead led Mulder around the building and toward their car.   
  
He looked behind them to ensure that they were clearly out of  
earshot of Emily. "That was supposed to be a meeting? It was more  
like a free-for-all. And that girl seemed pretty nervous on the   
subject of raves."   
  
"She probably went to one without permission and doesn't want her  
family to find out," Scully speculated. "She couldn't change the   
subject fast enough and latched onto her friend Lucky as an   
excuse. I think we have another case to investigate. And what   
about Sonny Corinthos' reaction to my name? He closed up as soon   
as he heard it."   
  
Mulder nodded. "He must have had some negative interaction with   
another Scully."  
  
Scully shrugged. "Probably. Maybe we should put him on our list  
of future interviews."   
  
"Those can wait a little while, can't they?"  
  
"What do you have in mind, Mulder?"   
  
"I thought we could split up till later this afternoon. Do you   
have anything in store that can keep you busy for a while?"   
  
"I guess so. What will you be up to?"   
  
"Oh, jogging, going out to lunch, finding out if anyone else  
in town has been brainwashed lately. You know, your usual,   
everyday kind of thing. You can drop me off at Kelly's and have   
the car till four. We can meet at the police station then."  
  
Scully considered the offer. Although she hadn't planned on going  
solo quite yet, she *did* have some juicy leads to check up on.   
For instance, she could meet the dream girl herself, Chloe   
Morgan. So she agreed to Mulder's suggestion.  
  
end 3/8  
  
  
  



	4. Ch. 4

  
TITLE: The Port Charles Files 4/8  
by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com)   
  
***********   
  
Not long after parting with Mulder, Scully found herself at the   
Port Charles Hotel, standing in front of Jasper Jacks and Chloe   
Morgan's door. She double-checked the number and rang the bell.   
  
From inside, a voice called, "Just a minute." Scully patiently   
waited for a little over that amount of time before the door   
swung open and Chloe, holding an armful of blue silk that matched  
the color of her dress, looked out at her.   
  
"I'm so sorry for taking so long," Chloe apologized.   
  
Scully went through the familiar explanation of her identity,   
and saw Chloe accept the news with hardly a blink. In fact, as   
she moved back to allow Scully to enter the room, Chloe's sole   
comment was, "The only thing I don't understand is why you're   
here to see me."   
  
Scully settled onto the sofa and looked around the room for signs  
of any other occupants. "Is Mr. Jacks here?"   
  
"No, he had a business meeting." Chloe deposited the silk in a   
nearby basket, sat on the opposite end of the sofa, and looked   
inquiringly at Scully. "Did you want to talk to Jax?"   
  
"No, you're the person I came to see. I met Mr. Jacks at the   
Quartermaine mansion this morning."   
  
Chloe smiled. "The Quartermaines are distant cousins of mine.   
It's a small world, isn't it?"   
  
"It certainly is." Scully made a private note to mention that   
observation to Mulder, and went on. "As for my reason for coming   
here, my partner and I are looking into the disappearance of   
Stefan Cassadine. From what the police commissioner said, you've   
been having visions that lead you to believe that Stefan was   
murdered by his mother, Helena."   
  
"They aren't exactly visions," Chloe explained. "The best way I   
can describe them is to say that a music box has been haunting my  
dreams ever since Helena Cassadine ran me down with her car. First,  
I went temporarily blind. Then my doctor told me I have a brain   
tumor that could very well kill me. The dreams started at around   
that time. In them, I always hear a music box playing Tchaikovsky's  
'Sleeping Beauty Waltz.' I've dreamed of the box floating in the   
water off the docks. I've dreamed of my doctor carrying it at   
General Hospital. I've even dreamed of the music playing in the   
background as my fiance, Jax, said it would be his pleasure to   
kill me. But the worst dreams were the ones about Stefan.   
Sometimes, I saw him drinking from a glass and collapsing, and   
other times, he walked toward me and asked for my help. I'm sure   
that I'm seeing through Helena's eyes, and she murdered Stefan   
and wants to kill me. When I told my neurosurgeon, Tony Jones,   
about the dreams, he suggested that my brain tumor could be   
causing them. Tony's been great. He understands what I'm going   
through, because *he* used to be blind and have a brain tumor.   
He didn't have dreams like mine, of course, but I guess he kind   
of made up for that when he went crazy a couple of years ago."  
  
"Crazy?" Scully said. "You don't mean...?"  
  
"Tony is very strong. He fought his way back from the edge. Just  
like Dr. Quartermaine, the Chief of Staff. Many remarkable   
people work at General Hospital." Chloe smiled apologetically.   
"You're probably thinking this all sounds pretty weird."   
  
It ranked right up there with the Flukeman, Scully thought. But   
no need to tell Chloe about that old case. Instead, she asked,  
"How is your health now?"  
  
"Jax recently bought a company that produces an experimental drug  
that's helping me." A thought seemed to strike her. "You know,   
Jax had a hard time getting hold of that company from Helena   
Cassadine. She told him she would only give me the drug if he   
spent a night with her. He had to tie her up and search her yacht  
for the medicine. Then he sent an e-mail ordering the sale of the  
company so he could buy it and not have to deal with Helena ever   
again. Do you think you could arrest her?"   
  
"No, but it shouldn't be hard to make a case against Jax,"   
Scully informed her.   
  
Chloe gasped. "Oh, no, you can't do that! Jax has already been   
in enough trouble with the FBI, and it wasn't even his fault the   
last time. He had no idea his father and brother were using his   
business to launder money for the mob. It was a really bad time   
for him, because his fiancee and her mother had just been presumed  
dead when they drove their car into the ocean. Plus, a couple of   
years before that, Jax's first wife, who he also thought had   
died, had showed up alive and well on the day of his marriage to  
Brenda. So Jax had a tough three years leading up to his arrest,   
and that was on false charges."   
  
"We might overlook his actions, if we can get anything on Helena   
Cassadine."   
  
Chloe bit her lip. "I didn't mean to get Jax in trouble. He was   
trying to help me. I wish I could tell you where Helena is, but   
she sailed away on her yacht and might never return."  
  
Taking pity on the poor, insane woman, Scully allayed her fears.  
"As long as Mr. Jacks stays out of trouble while we're in town,  
I think he'll be all right."   
  
Chloe smiled broadly. "You're being so nice about all this! If   
there's anything else I can do to help Jax, name it."   
  
Scully thought over that proposition. "As a matter of fact,   
Chloe, there is. I'd love to have your permission to examine your  
medical records, and to talk to your doctor about your case..."  
  
***********   
  
After changing into jogging clothes at Kelly's, Mulder set out on  
a long run before stopping at a corner bakery to buy two bagels.   
He then doubled back to the docks as he ate his snack. Spoon   
Island lay across the harbor, and the Cassadine family owned   
Spoon Island. Since the Cassadines were involved in one of the   
biggest mysteries in town -- what happened to Stefan, and who   
did it to him? -- it stood to reason that some answers might be   
found on the island.   
  
So it was that Mulder found himself on the murky docks, staring   
in the general direction of Spoon Island. Unfortunately, no   
convenient ferry service popped up, and there seemed to be no   
other easy way to reach the island. Momentarily giving up, Mulder  
was about to turn back toward Kelly's when two figures emerged   
from the gloom to his right. One was Emily Quartermaine; her   
companion, a dark-haired young man in his late teens, was   
unfamiliar. They were so absorbed in their conversation that they  
didn't notice Mulder until they were within 10 feet of him.   
  
He planted himself squarely in their path. "Hello, Emily."   
  
She stopped short and smiled weakly. "Hello again. Nikolas, this   
is FBI Agent Mulder. Agent Mulder, this is my friend, Nikolas   
Cassadine. We were on our way..." She tried to step around   
Mulder, but he didn't budge.   
  
"I'm sorry, we're in a hurry," Nikolas said pointedly. "We have   
to get to the island right away."   
  
"Then you're just the person I wanted to see. I'd like to visit   
Spoon Island."   
  
They reacted immediately, and violently.   
  
Emily gasped and covered her mouth.   
  
Nikolas stiffened. "No! The island is closed except to family   
and friends. Unless you have a search warrant."   
  
"If I did..." Mulder paused to draw out the tension. "If I did, I  
would be over there instead of here."   
  
"So you don't," Nikolas stated.   
  
Mulder shook his head. Emily let out a long breath, and Nikolas   
put an arm around her. "Come on, let's go." He urged Emily   
forward, and Mulder moved aside to allow them to pass. They   
rushed down the docks without a backward glance and jumped   
aboard a ferry that had either magically appeared, or that Mulder  
somehow hadn't before noticed. In the next moment, it pulled away  
from the dock and vanished into the mist.   
  
Nikolas and Emily's secretive behavior and guilty looks   
reinforced Mulder's hunch that they had something to hide. He   
would have to figure out a way to get to Spoon Island soon. But   
for the moment, he resumed his jog. Half an hour later, he found   
himself entering a park. He slowed to catch his breath and was   
walking past a small group of people gathered on a red striped   
blanket when he heard a voice.   
  
"Agent Mulder!"   
  
He turned and saw Lesley Webber waving to him from the blanket.   
With her were a blonde woman and a dark-haired little girl of   
about five. Having seen photos of the Spencer family, Mulder   
recognized the two as Lesley's daughter and granddaughter, Laura   
and Lesley Lu. He veered in their direction while Lesley briefly   
explained his identity to Laura.   
  
Laura was on her feet and extending her hand as Mulder reached   
the blanket. "Agent Mulder, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm   
Laura Spencer. My mother told me about how you're trying to help   
Lucky, and it's a huge relief. I haven't been getting anywhere   
with him." She shook his hand, then knelt beside her daughter.  
"Can you say hello, Lulu?"   
  
The little girl ducked her head and stared at the ground.   
  
"She's shy," Laura apologized.   
  
Lesley took Lulu's hand. "Let's go play on the swings, all   
right?"   
  
Wordlessly, Lulu rose and followed her grandmother to a low swing  
set about 20 yards away.   
  
Laura turned back to Mulder. "Can you stay for a minute? Do you   
have any news about Lucky?"   
  
In answer, he dropped down on the far side of the blanket. "I   
haven't met your son yet, although I suspect it's only a matter   
of time. You might be able to provide me with some useful   
information in another area, though. I understand that your   
husband, Luke, has been charged with Stefan Cassadine's murder."   
  
Laura sighed. "The entire situation is one huge mess. The police   
commissioner thinks Luke's guilty because he ran. Mac used to be   
a fair man, until his wife left him. He blames Luke for the   
failure of his marriage. If Luke ever comes back, he'll have a   
hard time proving his innocence."   
  
"So you also think Helena Cassadine is the real criminal?"   
  
Laura shrugged. "I wouldn't put anything past that woman. She's   
always hated my family, and she blames Luke for the deaths of   
her husband and another son. She hates Stefan, too, so it would   
be the perfect revenge for her to kill him and let Luke take the   
fall. But all the proof points in Luke's direction. Even a letter  
Stefan sent to me said that he was afraid of what Luke might do  
to him. And if Luke believed that Stefan was behind Lucky's   
kidnapping, he might have turned violent. But anyone will tell   
you that poison isn't his style."   
  
"Lucky was kidnapped by Cesar Faison, though?"   
  
"He says so. For a while, I suspected Stefan, and our relation-  
ship broke up because of that. Stefan told me that he was trying   
to rescue Lucky from Helena, but I didn't believe him at first.   
I told you it was a big mess."   
  
Mulder checked his watch. "More of a mess than I have time to   
sort out now. But I think that if I find out what happened to   
Stefan, it will provide information that can help your son. I'm   
working on it."   
  
He left to the sound of Laura's thanks and Lesley's goodbye, but   
eerie silence, still, from Lulu. He had a few errands to run   
before he met Scully at the police station.   
  
*********  
  
Scully parked across the street from police headquarters at 3:45.  
She was prepared to wait at least 15 minutes for Mulder to show   
up, but spotted him waiting on a bench in front of a bookstore   
two doors away. Quickly getting out of the car, she joined him.  
"So where did you go?"   
  
He turned partially sideways to look at her. "You want the   
interesting part first? I ended up at the docks, and guess who I   
ran into? Emily Quartermaine and Nikolas Cassadine, and the   
second I mentioned the possibility of visiting Spoon Island, they  
shot me down. The way they acted, I'm sure they're hiding some-  
thing."   
  
"Some people don't like having their privacy invaded." It   
sounded like a reasonable explanation to her, anyway.   
  
But apparently not to Mulder, whose voice rose with excitement.   
"Anything could be hidden on that island: another alien, Stefan   
Cassadine's body, anything. Think about the possibilities."   
  
Scully did, and concluded, "The possibilities are endless, all   
right, but the likelihood is that nothing's there. Besides, we   
don't have a search warrant or any evidence."   
  
"Not yet," Mulder agreed. "But Cassadine's body *is* still   
missing."   
  
Scully thought back to her afternoon visit. "I talked to Chloe  
Morgan, and according to her, he truly was poisoned. She also   
told me some horror stories about the local doctors. If she can   
be trusted, here's what we have to expect: Chloe claims that   
her doctor, Tony Jones, is a wonderful person who once went a   
little around the bend because his girlfriend, who was his ex-  
wife's daughter whom she gave up for adoption at birth and   
reunited with as an adult, cheated on him. Interestingly, the   
girlfriend is the only one of the bunch who spent time in a   
psychiatric facility. I still haven't quite figured out how she   
got out. And guess what? She's also Sonny Corinthos' fiancee, and  
Roy DiLucca's girlfriend's daughter. I can't begin to explain   
what's wrong with this town, but something definitely is. On top   
of all that, Chloe still insists that she's been having   
visions."   
  
"And you don't believe they're genuine," Mulder stated rather   
than asked.   
  
Scully shook her head. "A brain tumor doesn't suddenly cause   
someone to begin seeing through another person's eyes. It's   
impossible. They're probably just very realistic nightmares."   
  
Instead of arguing that point, as Scully expected, Mulder went   
on, "And I met Laura Spencer. She said that Helena Cassadine has  
hated her family for years and wouldn't mind seeing Luke   
imprisoned for Stefan's murder."   
  
Scully stood up. "Let's hope the police have made some progress   
in solving this case, then. Though considering that it's Hannah's  
boyfriend, Taggert, on the job, I have my doubts."   
  
They headed into the station and found a competent-looking   
receptionist.   
  
"Is Lieutenant Taggert in?" Mulder asked her.   
  
"Right there." She pointed at a tall, bald, African-American man,  
who approached when the receptionist beckoned him.   
  
Scully barely had time to think, 'I hope Hannah hasn't told him   
about my advice to her to leave town alone,' before he greeted  
them.   
  
"Agents Mulder and Scully, right?"   
  
"Right," Mulder confirmed. "Commissioner Scorpio suggested that   
we speak to you. Did he tell you we were in town?"   
  
"Mac? No, I haven't seen him in a couple of days. Word of your   
presence spread around, and I figured you'd show up here sooner   
or later. So when I saw two unfamiliar faces, I took an educated   
guess. But I don't get why the Bureau sent in more agents.   
Hannah Scott's been handling things just fine on her own."  
  
'He *must* be in love,' thought Scully.   
  
Taggert turned toward her. "You know, Agent Scully, your name   
sounds awfully familiar."   
  
She smiled ruefully. "Would it help you to know that Sonny   
Corinthos had a strong adverse reaction to it?"   
  
"Yes, it does. Now I can place it. His mentor in the mob was a   
man named Joe Scully, who eventually betrayed him. Sonny ended up  
shooting him dead. The Scully name is not too highly regarded in  
these parts, either by cop or by criminal. Was Joe any relation  
of yours?"   
  
"Not at all. I don't have any relatives with that name."   
  
Her response took the wind out of Taggert's sails, and he dropped  
the subject. "I guess you have some questions for me. Why don't  
we talk over there?"   
  
They threaded their way through a maze of desks until they   
reached the far corner, where Taggert sat behind a deserted desk.  
As Mulder and Scully took the two vacant chairs in front of him,   
he asked, "What can I do for you?"   
  
"We'd like to know about the missing officer, Ted Wilson," Mulder  
began.   
  
"Yeah, Ted." Taggert shook his head. "Not much I can tell you. He  
was undercover, trying to catch drug dealers. The last we heard   
from him, he was set to attend a rave at an abandoned house off   
Lakeshore Drive on June 30. There hasn't been a word from him   
since."   
  
A rave? That was the second time that day that the subject had  
arisen. Scully's curiosity was piqued. "Ted Wilson was supposed   
to go a rave?" she repeated.   
  
"Yep," Taggert confirmed. "They're pretty popular around here.   
Pretty dangerous, too."   
  
"Do you think a girl like, say, Emily Quartermaine would ever   
attend one?"   
  
Taggert considered. "Emily? I don't think so. Sure, she had a   
drug problem in the past, but she's been clean for years.   
Besides, she's dating my ward, Juan, and I see her around a lot.  
I haven't noticed any signs that she's been using. She's a good   
kid."   
  
"Your ward, Juan," Mulder said. "That must be Juan Santiago."   
  
"Yeah, how did you know?"   
  
"Certain names keep cropping up wherever we go. We also wanted to  
look into the Stefan Cassadine case. Is Detective Garcia   
here?"   
  
Taggert glanced around the room. "I don't see him. I think he's  
out tracking down some leads." He hesitated and studied both   
agents' faces before seeming to make up his mind. "Look, I'm   
going to tell you something in confidence. I'm concerned about   
the commissioner's behavior in the Luke Spencer case. Maybe if   
you gave him a little warning, it would help. He acts like he's   
on the verge of stepping over the line, if you know what I mean.   
Some of the officers are getting a little concerned about his   
behavior. They wish someone like Anna Devane was still in   
charge. She was Mac's sister-in-law, but she died several years   
ago. From what I've heard, she could do it all. Before she   
became police chief, she was even a double agent for the WSB and  
the DVX."   
  
She must have heard wrong *this* time. Scully had to know what   
Taggert had actually said. "Can you repeat that?"   
  
Taggert said in a questioning tone, "Before she became police   
chief, she was even a double agent for the WSB and the DVX."   
  
She *had* heard correctly the first time, which really wasn't a   
comfort. "I'm sorry. It's just that where we come from, having   
been a double agent tends to disqualify people from ever again   
holding a position of political power."   
  
"And what is this WSB?" Mulder added.   
  
Taggert looked at him strangely. "You don't know? It's the World  
Security Bureau, a government agency that battles the DVX   
organization, whose initials don't stand for anything. Anna was a  
top-notch chief, although she did resign under a bit of a cloud.  
The real problem, though, was her co-chief, Burt Ramsey. He   
turned out to be a criminal genius named Mr. Big. He went off the  
deep end partly because he had to share his post with a woman."   
  
"So," Mulder mused, "if Mac railroads Luke Spencer into prison,   
he'd merely be writing another chapter in the long and storied   
history of the Port Charles police chief as a criminal."   
  
Taggert scowled ferociously. Scully quickly stood and said,   
"Thank you, Lieutenant," as graciously as she could manage.   
"Don't worry. This conversation will remain private." Mulder   
followed her lead, and they picked their way out of the room,   
through the front door of the station, and toward the car.   
  
Mulder spoke first. "Ted Wilson disappeared on the night of a   
rave. Emily Quartermaine didn't want us to think that she attends  
raves. I'm starting to connect the dots here. And I think you   
need to go to L&B Records to talk to Juan."   
  
Scully halted beside the Dodge's passenger door. "Why me?"   
  
"Because I'm going to try to get that trip to Spoon Island out of  
the way."   
  
Scully stood her ground. After all, she had the car keys. "Oh,   
no. I'm not entering a recording studio alone if that boy   
might be singing."   
  
"All right, all right." Mulder thought for a moment. "Why don't   
we flip a coin?" He pulled a quarter out of his pocket. "Call it   
in the air. If you're right, I go."   
  
As the coin spun upward, Scully called, "Tails!"   
  
It spiraled back to earth, hit the pavement, and stuck on its   
edge in a crack in the sidewalk.   
  
Mulder crouched next to it. "Looks like it's leaning a little   
more this way..."   
  
"Forget it, we both lose," Scully said. "I suppose it's only   
fair. If one of us has to suffer, so should the other one." She  
tossed him the keys. "Cheer up, you can drive."   
  
end 4/8  
  
  
  



	5. Ch. 5

  
TITLE: The Port Charles Files 5/8  
by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com)   
  
***********  
  
The 10-minute drive to L&B passed in silence. Upon their arrival,  
Mulder parked as close to the door as possible. The last thing   
he wanted to do was waste time interviewing a wannabe teen idol   
when he could be out on Spoon Island. Or trying to get to Spoon   
Island, at the least. It didn't appear that Scully was that much   
more eager than he was, since she hung back far enough that he   
was forced to enter the building first.   
  
No one was at the reception desk. In fact, no one was anywhere in  
sight.   
  
"Good, they're closed, let's leave," Mulder said, turning to make  
his escape.   
  
Scully grabbed his sleeve. "The door was unlocked. I realize that  
fact doesn't mean much in Port Charles, but we're not running   
yet."   
  
The words had barely left her mouth when Juan Santiago entered   
the room from a back hallway, eyes fixed on a paper in his right  
hand as he sang in a whispery voice, "Time after time, I close   
my eyes thinking about what the night will bring, dancing alone,   
your body next to mi--"   
  
Scully cut him off mid-note. "Excuse me."   
  
Juan's head flew up. "Oh, hi. What do you think of my new song?   
My girlfriend Emily originally wrote it as a poem. I told her it  
was one of the best I'd ever read, and I wanted to make a song   
out of it. Being able to dedicate her own words to her will be so  
special, you know?"  
  
Mulder adopted an imposing air. 'Anything to keep this kid from   
singing in front of us again,' he thought. He pulled out his   
badge and stated, "Fox Mulder and Dana Scully from the Federal  
Bureau of Investigation. We'd like to talk to you."   
  
"Yeah?" Juan said with a slight quaver in his voice.   
  
"We already spoke with Emily." Mulder paused, hoping Juan would   
volunteer some useful information.   
  
Juan's stance relaxed. "Oh, she told me. You're trying to help   
Lucky, right?"   
  
His approach hadn't worked. It was time to get more direct.   
"Lucky's behavior isn't the only case we're investigating. For   
instance, we wondered if you like going to raves. We hear they're  
popular around here."   
  
Juan dropped his gaze and shifted his feet. "No, they're not my  
thing. I hang out with a small group of friends, mostly."   
  
"So you didn't go to any rave on, say, June 30?"   
  
The boy made a valiant effort to keep his voice steady but   
failed. "Not me. Must have been someone else. Well, look, I have  
to go record my song. If you have any more questions, you can   
listen until I'm done, and then--"   
  
"No!" Mulder and Scully chorused.   
  
They exchanged sheepish glances, and Mulder went on. "Thank you,  
but that won't be necessary. If we need to talk to you again,   
we'll reach you at home."   
  
"Great. I gotta go, bye." And Juan nearly ran out of the room and  
down the hallway.   
  
Scully looked at Mulder. "I guess that's that. I don't know what   
else we can say to Juan."   
  
"It's obvious that he knows something."  
  
Scully opened her mouth, shut it, and then proceeded after all.  
"Maybe he and his friends went to a rave this summer. Maybe they   
were even at the same rave Ted Wilson was supposed to attend. We  
still have no proof that they saw or heard anything that might   
help us solve this case. However, I do believe that we should   
talk to these kids again and let them know the gravity of the s  
situation. Maybe then they'll confess their big secret, and we  
can put this matter behind us. I personally don't think it has   
anything to do with Ted Wilson, but at least we'll know for   
sure."  
  
Mulder nodded. "We should ask Juan and Emily to come to the   
police station. A more formal setting should encourage them to   
talk."   
  
"You can tell Juan." Scully motioned to the hallway.   
  
Mulder took a step just as the front door opened, and Ned Ashton  
entered. He looked surprised to see them, but recovered gracefully.  
"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully. We met earlier today, at the   
Quartermaine mansion. I'm Ned Ashton. Is anyone helping you?"   
  
"We talked to Juan Santiago. We need to arrange another meeting   
with him, though. Mulder?" Scully prompted.   
  
Ned stepped closer to Scully, flashing her a dimpled smile as he  
turned his back on Mulder and effectively excluded him from the  
conversation. "I want to apologize for my family's behavior   
yesterday. ELQ board meetings usually get pretty hectic, but   
that's no excuse. Did you find out what you wanted to know from   
my grandfather?"   
  
To Mulder's disgust, Scully fell for the act. She smiled back at  
Ned and replied, "Yes, we cleared up the matter right away."   
  
"I'll go talk to Juan," Mulder said to no one in particular,   
since they were too absorbed in their discussion to notice him.   
He stalked down the hallway, feeling more than a little   
neglected, and at the far end, rounded the corner to see Juan   
talking on a cell phone in the middle of the hall. His voice   
carried over the 30-foot distance, and the words made Mulder   
freeze. "I'm afraid the cops are on to us...Okay. The docks near  
the abandoned cannery, at midnight. I'll be there, Nikolas." Juan  
disconnected from the call.   
  
Mulder ducked into a recessed doorway, but he was in no danger of  
being seen. Juan didn't even turn his head as he continued down   
the hall. As soon as he disappeared around the far corner, Mulder  
emerged from his hiding place and returned to Scully and Ned, who  
were engaged in an animated conversation.   
  
"We have to leave," he informed Scully.   
  
She didn't spare him a glance as she said, "All right. Just a   
minute."   
  
"No, now." He placed a hand on her arm.  
  
She frowned at him and smiled at Ned. "I'm sorry. We have to   
follow up on a lead."   
  
His voice held a mixture of disappointment and understanding.   
"I'm glad we had a chance to talk so I could apologize for my   
family. Goodbye, Agent Scully, and good luck."   
  
She smiled one last time at him. "Goodbye, Ned."   
  
Ned hurried ahead to hold open the door for Scully as she exited  
the building. Mulder, a few steps behind, was left to shove it   
open himself, but he had expected that. Outside, he turned to   
Scully.  
  
She got in the first words, though, snapping, "Mulder, you were   
rude. What was so important that you had to practically drag me  
outside?"   
  
"'Goodbye, Ned'?" he mimicked. "You were already on a first-name  
basis with him?"   
  
"He was being friendly, and I was in the middle of my first   
normal conversation since coming to this town."   
  
He could hardly believe Scully was being so gullible. He had to   
spell it out for her. "Ashton was on a fishing expedition, trying  
to learn what we discussed with his grandfather."   
  
A flicker of doubt crossed Scully's face, but she countered, "He  
was very charming."   
  
"Yeah, well, just because he hasn't come back from the dead even  
once yet doesn't necessarily mean that he's normal. Wait until   
we research his past. Who knows what we'll learn?"   
  
"Like the fact that Emily Quartermaine was adopted?" Scully   
asked.   
  
Mulder nodded. "That explains a lot. But I learned something even  
better. When I went to find Juan, I overheard him on the   
telephone, arranging a meeting on the docks at midnight tonight.  
He's afraid that the police, meaning us, are 'on to' them. What   
do you think about that?"   
  
It took Scully only a few seconds to answer. "I think we need to  
attend that meeting, Mulder."  
  
***********  
  
Two stops (a gas station and a diner other than Kelly's) after   
leaving L&B Records, Mulder and Scully ended up at their final   
destination of the evening: the fourth floor of General Hospital.  
To the casual observer, it probably looked much like any other   
medical facility. But to Mulder, a veteran of hospitalizations   
across the country, General Hospital was rife with inconsistencies.  
On their way to Tony Jones' office, he and Scully walked down a   
corridor of private rooms complete with gingham curtains, glass   
vases, and cable television, and dodged a nurse chatting on a   
cell phone.  
  
Dr. Jones' unlocked office was another inconsistency. Scully   
paused outside the door. "Ordinarily, I wouldn't just go in. But  
considering the circumstances, I'll make an exception. And if   
anyone questions my presence, they can confirm with Chloe Morgan  
that she gave me permission to examine her charts. But I don't   
expect any problems. The way this place seems to be run, I'll be  
able to walk in and out at will."   
  
"How about getting me A.J. Quartermaine's file, while you're at   
it?"  
  
Scully entered and tried the file cabinet. Also unlocked. "How do  
you know that his records are even in this office? He might never  
have been treated by Dr. Jones."  
  
"Call it another hunch." Mulder watched triumphantly as Scully   
pulled out the desired file. "What did I tell you?" He took it   
from her and flipped to the first page. Running his finger along  
the margin, he located the birth date: November 18, 1972, once  
again. It wasn't what he had wanted to see. He snapped the file  
shut and returned it to Scully.   
  
She looked knowingly at him. "Ready to admit that Lesley Webber  
was wrong?"  
  
"Not yet. Just like Lucky Spencer's dental records that supposedly  
proved his death, these records could have been switched. And   
we've seen what the Quartermaines are like. It's far more   
plausible that A.J. was born in 1979 than in 1972. Why should he  
be ordinary if no one else in his family is?"   
  
"Ned Ashton is A.J.'s cousin, and he's a perfectly nice,   
respectable man," Scully defended. "As for his family, it's just  
a little eccentric."   
  
"If eccentricity includes holding conversations with a portrait,  
maybe you're right," Mulder said under his breath.   
  
Scully ignored him. "You're blowing this situation way out of   
proportion. Try to keep out of trouble while I check Chloe's   
records."   
  
"All right. I'll see if Tony Jones is on duty tonight. We might   
as well talk to him if we can." As Scully went back inside the  
office, Mulder headed down the corridor to the nurses' station.   
A perky blonde woman with a name tag that read "Amy Vining" was   
on duty. Maybe she could spare him a few minutes.   
  
**********   
  
Eleven minutes later, Scully emerged from her study of Chloe's   
records and looked around for Mulder. It didn't take long to spot  
him at the nurses' station, talking with a blonde woman. As she   
approached, though, she saw that he was doing much more listening  
than speaking, as the nurse rattled on virtually nonstop.   
  
Mulder noticed her and cut into the woman's spiel. "Amy, this is   
Agent Scully."   
  
Without missing a beat, Amy squealed, "Agent Scully! I have tons  
of great stories to tell you! Do you know that you have the same  
last name as an infamous mobster? Monica!" She looked over   
Scully's shoulder at Dr. Quartermaine, who ignored her and strode  
away. Amy wrinkled her nose. "Monica's never been a friend of   
mine anyway. She knows exactly what I think of her morals, having  
an affair with her own nephew, for one thing."   
  
She paused for breath, and Mulder broke in. "You don't mean Ned   
Ashton, do you?"   
  
"Oh, well, Ned isn't a blood relative of hers," Amy acknowledged  
before brightening. "But he's her husband's nephew and it's still  
stepping over the line in my eyes. I don't care if he *was*   
going by a different name at the time. Monica showed her true   
colors again when she was sued for sexual harassment by a co-  
worker. She got dragged through the mud in court, and she  
deserved every minute of it."   
  
'Oh, God, Mulder was right about Ned.' Scully attempted to steer  
the conversation in another direction. "Amy, you obviously know a  
lot about Port Charles."   
  
Amy preened.   
  
Scully continued, "When did Alan and Monica Quartermaine first   
meet?"   
  
"The late '70s." Amy nodded emphatically. "The rest of the  
Quartermaines moved here not long after that."  
  
Even as Scully realized that the dates didn't match, Mulder  
asked, "Then how could their son A.J. have been born in 1972?"   
  
Amy looked blank before latching onto another topic. "Ned was a   
tennis instructor at the spa when he met Monica, but I bet he   
hasn't picked up a racket since."   
  
"Yes, but what about A.J.?" Mulder pressed.   
  
Amy went on as if she hadn't heard him. "He became a rock star  
under the name Eddie Maine, and was a bigamist who was married to   
Lois Cerullo and Katherine Bell at the same time, and later he   
was CEO of ELQ before he--"   
  
Scully cut through the stream of chatter. "Is Dr. Tony Jones   
working tonight?"   
  
"He isn't in. Did you know that he once kidnapped a baby, and   
endangered Robin Scorpio's life by locking her in a cabin without  
her medication, and..."   
  
This time, instead of interrupting, they simply walked away and  
entered the nearest stairwell.  
  
"Look on the bright side, Scully," Mulder offered as they   
descended the steps. "At least we learned some of Ned Ashton's   
secrets."   
  
"I just want a definitive answer about A.J. Quartermaine's   
evolving age," Scully admitted. "Amy more or less backed up   
Lesley Webber's story. But she didn't even seem to hear you when   
you asked for more details. And she certainly didn't act like a   
very reliable source. I have to wonder if she changed any of the  
facts about the town history."   
  
"I seriously doubt she altered even one detail," Mulder said.   
"She's a fountain of information. You didn't catch what she told  
me while you were checking those records. I now have another   
nominee for the weird files: the tale of the Asian Quarter, in   
which young Robin Scorpio's doll's eyes turned out to be   
priceless pearls much sought after by both the downtrodden Asian   
population of Port Charles and their oppressor, the evil Mr. Wu."  
  
"That's interesting. I haven't seen any signs of an Asian   
population, oppressed or otherwise."   
  
"I bet they were the smart ones, and left town after that   
incident," Mulder suggested. "How did your research go? Did you  
find anything in Chloe's records that would explain her psychic   
ability to your satisfaction?"   
  
"Not even close. She definitely has a brain tumor, but it   
couldn't cause visions such as she describes. Honestly, I think   
she's mentally unstable. But for tonight, we should concentrate   
on that meeting on the docks. It just might be our big break."  
  
***********   
  
At his surveillance post inside the abandoned cannery, Mulder   
sighed and stirred impatiently. Beside him, Scully gestured for   
stillness, and he settled down. She was right, of course.   
Stakeouts tended to be unproductive under the best of circum-   
stances, and it would be pure foolishness to risk scaring away   
their targets because he was bored. Scully was far better at   
waiting than he was, and it was on her insistence that they had   
arrived a half-hour before the midnight meeting. It was just a   
five-minute walk from Kelly's anyway. According to Juan's   
telephone conversation, the meeting was to take place on the   
docks, so they had selected the interior of the building as the   
best place to wait.   
  
They remained crouched near the cracked, dingy front window as  
the seconds ticked past. It was too dark to see their watches,   
but they each held both a penlight and a flashlight. So far, the  
lights had been used to help guide them inside, and to sneak an   
occasional look at the time. At the last check, it was 11:58.   
  
In the next moment, their patience was rewarded. From the left   
came the sound of a vehicle approaching. Peering out the window,   
Mulder saw a dark-colored car that drove close to the cannery   
until its path was blocked by several piles of debris. The driver  
turned off the engine and climbed out. Another figure emerged   
from the passenger side. As they moved toward the building, the   
moonlight reflected off of their faces, making them clearly   
visible.   
  
"Lucky Spencer and Emily Quartermaine," Mulder whispered to   
Scully. "They must be waiting for Juan."   
  
Another minute or so ticked past. All four people remained so   
quiet that when low voices became audible from somewhere to the   
right, the sound stood out in sharp relief. Lucky and Emily   
tensed and looked in the direction of the noise, as did Mulder   
as best as he could through a three-inch hole in the glass. He   
was able to identify two people, one on either end, carrying a   
dark object about six feet in length. Next to him, Scully leaned   
forward to get a better view.   
  
"It's Nikolas Cassadine and Juan," Mulder informed her.   
  
"But what are they carrying? It looks like it's wrapped in a   
garbage bag."   
  
Mulder shook his head, at a loss for an explanation. They watched  
as Lucky and Emily moved past the jumble of boxes and garbage to   
intercept Juan and Nikolas. The teenagers were so close that   
their voices drifted through the various cracks and holes in the  
window.   
  
"It took you long enough," Lucky complained.   
  
"You had the easy part," Nikolas shot back.   
  
Juan adjusted his grip. "Can we get moving again? He's pretty   
heavy."   
  
'He?' From the way Scully shifted beside him, Mulder knew she had  
also caught the telltale use of that word.   
  
"You want to go out now?" he whispered.   
  
In answer, she quietly stood and moved toward the door. Mulder   
followed, equally silent. As they reached the doorway, Lucky   
handed Emily his keys, and she turned toward the car. In doing   
so, she faced the cannery, saw the agents, and cried out. In turn,  
Nikolas gasped, Lucky swore, and Juan jumped and dropped his end   
of the mystery object, which hit the ground with a thump.   
  
"My God, Mulder," said Scully. "That's really a body."   
  
There was little doubt about it. The odor of rotting flesh   
hit them from a dozen steps away. Scully crossed the short   
distance, knelt beside Juan's end of the plastic-wrapped object,  
and tugged away the covering to reveal a pale face. She   
automatically felt for a pulse, but almost immediately jerked her  
hand away. "He's inside a garbage bag, and he's dead. The only   
question is whether this is Stefan Cassadine or Ted Wilson."   
  
"This isn't my uncle!" Nikolas blurted.   
  
"Shut up!" Lucky hissed. "Don't say anything else. The more you   
talk, the more trouble we'll be in."  
  
Scully looked at Mulder. "Call the police. Tell them we've got a   
decomposing, semi-frozen body and four murder suspects."   
  
***********   
  
They had barely herded the teenagers away from the body when the  
first police car arrived.   
  
Mulder consulted his watch. "Not a bad response time for a   
midnight call in a small town. Especially for a police force   
that rarely arrests the real criminals on its first try."   
  
They moved out of the way to let the officers do their job, and   
Mulder was relieved to see that one of them immediately read the   
kids their rights. Another, a dark-haired Hispanic man, walked  
over to him and Scully.   
  
"Agents Mulder and Scully? I'm Detective Garcia. You're the ones  
who found the body? How did that happen?"   
  
Mulder looked questioningly at Scully, but she nodded for him to  
proceed. "Basically, we witnessed unusual behavior on the part of  
those kids," he waved toward Nikolas, Lucky, Emily, and Juan,   
"and overheard a conversation in which they agreed to meet   
tonight on these docks. Since this area is a well-known hang-out  
of the criminally inclined, it shouldn't come as any great   
surprise that we caught them in the act of transporting a body."   
  
"And?" Garcia waited expectantly.   
  
"That's it. Right, Scully?"   
  
"In a nutshell," she agreed.   
  
"Wait a minute," Garcia objected. "You've been in town for all   
of two days, and you found a guy we've been looking for for two   
months. You must have had more to go on."   
  
Scully shook her head. "Sorry."   
  
Garcia sighed. "Taggert's gonna have a fit when he finds out   
about Juan's involvement."   
  
"Isn't that him over there?" Scully pointed to a newly arrived   
police vehicle.   
  
Garcia excused himself and went over to the car, presumably to   
fill the lieutenant in on the action. In the span of about 10   
seconds, Taggert's expression changed from curious to shocked,   
and he stalked toward Juan.   
  
Mulder watched with a faint feeling of sympathy. "I almost feel   
sorry for that kid, having Taggert to deal with."   
  
"The lieutenant ought to be removed from the case, seeing that he  
has a personal stake in the outcome," Scully noted.   
  
Mulder looked at her. "Admit it, the odds of him voluntarily   
stepping away are slim to none. But Garcia looks reasonably   
competent, by Port Charles standards. If he helps Taggert and   
they keep Hannah out of it, they might eventually straighten out  
this mess."   
  
Scully covered a yawn with her hand. "If that's a suggestion that  
we leave them to our own devices, I agree. It's late, and I'm   
tired. I think we had a productive day any way you look at it."   
  
"No question about that." They set off for Kelly's, and as Mulder  
had anticipated, no one showed any signs of registering their   
absence. "What do we do for an encore? Solve the mystery of   
Stefan Cassadine's disappearance?" He was only half joking, of   
course.   
  
end 5/8  
  
  
  
  



	6. Ch. 6

  
TITLE: The Port Charles Files 6/8  
by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com)   
  
***********  
  
At 9 a.m. on the dot, Scully tapped on Mulder's door. Following   
their midnight adventure on the docks, she had been able to get a  
reasonable amount of sleep, and it was time to plan their day.  
  
She tapped twice, waited, and tapped again. Mulder might have gone  
out for breakfast, but if so, he probably would have invited her   
along. Then she heard a scuffling noise from inside the room, and  
a moment later, Mulder opened the door.   
  
"Hey, Scully. Come in. There's something I want you to see." He  
inched the door open just enough so she could squeeze in. It   
didn't take long to see why. Piles of paper and pictures covered   
the floor on the other side of the door, and an entire wall was   
to a mosaic of taped-up photos and notes detailing various events  
such as interrupted weddings, natural disasters, and shootings.   
Each section was dated by year; it was a timeline of Port   
Charles.   
  
"So, what do you think of my visual aid?" Mulder waited for   
Scully's opinion.   
  
"Very good. You obviously put a lot of work into it. Only..."   
She studied the chart more closely. "It's incomplete, isn't it?   
Are you going to finish it?"   
  
"It *is* finished."   
  
She looked at the wall again. "But you don't have anything for   
the years prior to 1963."   
  
He indicated the cut-off point with his pencil. "Yeah. Interest-  
ingly, nothing of consequence appears to have happened before   
then."   
  
"Unless Port Charles was founded in 1963?" Scully suggested.  
  
"No, it's been around for well over a century. This area was   
ordinary enough until that year, then a syzygy or something  
occurred that threw things out of whack. There's no denying that  
this place is weird. For example, Garcia didn't ask us to go to  
the police station today. If we never show up, they won't notice  
the difference."   
  
"But of course, we *will* stop by," Scully said. "The police will  
need our formal statements as evidence in the Wilson case."   
  
"I don't think they'll have a problem railroading those kids into  
prison without our help. Anyway, I'm perfectly content to wait  
until someone requests our stories, though I don't expect it to  
happen. In the meantime, we have plenty to keep us busy. Remember  
A.J. Quartermaine and the mystery of his true age? Just consider  
the conflicting information. Lesley Webber said she delivered  
A.J. in 1979. His driver's license, his medical records, and his   
grandmother all say 1972, plus he looks that age. But according   
to Amy Vining, Alan and Monica didn't meet until the late '70s.   
On the surface, the evidence is weighted in favor of the earlier   
date, which is exactly why I'm inclined to believe that 1979 is   
actually correct. Scully, admit it: The lack of a straight answer  
bothers your orderly mind."   
  
She dropped down onto the one clear spot on the bed. "Yes, it   
does. So where does A.J. fit into our schedule?"   
  
Mulder shoved aside a file and sat next to her. "You mean, what's  
on our to-do list? A better question might be, what *isn't* on   
it? There's a heck of a lot more to look into than when we   
arrived in town, that's for sure. Every time we investigate a   
situation, we come away with three or four more unanswered   
questions. The birth dates of A.J. and his brother are pretty   
high up on my list."   
  
Scully sighed. "That one's bothering me more and more now, too.   
But I think we need to make the Stefan Cassadine case our top   
priority."   
  
Mulder shook his head. "I have a theory. No matter what puzzle we  
work on solving, it will ultimately tie into everything else in   
town, like this huge, tangled spider web. So if we scour Spoon   
Island for signs of aliens or whatever else might happen to be  
there, we're likely to find answers to another mystery."   
  
"I don't think we'll find anything on the island. I'd rather   
persuade Chloe Morgan to seek competent psychiatric help."  
  
"It wouldn't hurt to see if Lucky Spencer's brainwashing has worn  
off, and try to get something solid on Helena Cassadine, who has   
a finger in every pie but is nowhere to be found."   
  
"And what about figuring out the motives in the Ted Wilson   
murder? I'd love to know why those kids had that body."   
  
Mulder leaned down and snatched up the folder he had   
unceremoniously pushed to the floor. "Why don't we split up   
again? I'll see if I can talk the cops into getting a search   
warrant for Spoon Island, and if you ask nicely, maybe they'll let  
you perform the Wilson autopsy. At least then we'll be able to   
trust the results."   
  
"Sounds like a plan," Scully agreed.   
  
Mulder displayed the folder. "And look at this: a gift from   
Langly. He hacked into the General Hospital computer records and  
came up with some noteworthy findings. These are medical reports  
on some of the local residents who have been abducted over the  
years. I'd like you to go over them and see if there are any  
abnormalities. For instance, any evidence of alien involvement."  
  
Stifling another sigh, Scully took the folder. "I'll take a look   
when I have time. Are you ready to go?"  
  
Mulder rose, but his cell phone rang before they could leave.  
"Mulder," he answered. "Oh, hello, sir... No, we're both fine.   
Scully's right here. Do you want to talk to her?... All right...   
Yes, we can do that... Thank you, sir... Goodbye." He disconnected  
and said, "That was Skinner. He wanted to see how we're doing. We  
need to e-mail him an informal progress report sometime today."   
  
"He *must* be concerned about us," Scully realized. "We need to   
have some solid information to report to him. Some explanation of  
what is wrong with these people."  
  
"Let's look at the facts," Mulder suggested. "The local divorce  
rate tops off at about 96%, most adults over the age of 30 have  
given birth to a child they either forgot about or kept secret,  
and a mobster is regarded as public citizen number one. It seems  
like the townspeople are suffering from a form of mass insanity.  
What kind of medical explanation could possibly account for all   
of this?"?"  
  
"Excellent question." She settled back on the bed and reeled off  
her observations. "We know that newcomers are not immediately   
impacted, since we're still okay. If people move away, they   
usually recover and go on to lead normal lives. The problems don't  
extend to nearby Buffalo, or we would have heard about them long  
ago. So I have to conclude that either the local water or air  
supply is contaminated."  
  
"Scully, keeping your mind open to all possibilities, you have to  
admit that the air or the water might not be the source of the  
problems."   
  
She went on without acknowledging that comment. "I'll send some   
air and water samples to be run through the labs. They'll   
probably prove that some chemical substance is afflicting the   
residents and causing their unnatural behavior. Then we'll have   
a logical explanation. And who knows? Maybe by the time you're   
finished at Spoon Island and I'm done with that autopsy, we'll   
know what's really going on around here."  
  
*********  
  
Spoon Island: Mulder was finally there, as were Garcia, Taggert,   
and several other officers, but going with them had turned out to  
be the easiest method. They had taken his suggestion of   
obtaining a search warrant very seriously, and had managed with   
almost magical ease to get a judge to issue one immediately.   
Scully, meanwhile, had remained in Port Charles with the   
intention of performing the Wilson autopsy.  
  
Garcia called for attention as they stepped out of the police   
launch, and everyone gathered around him on the dock. "Now   
remember, we're looking for any evidence relating to the murder.   
In particular, we need to find a freezer that was used to store   
Wilson's body for an unknown amount of time. The kids haven't   
said much and the servants weren't any help, but there's still a   
pretty good chance it's here. We need to split up and canvass   
this island. Half of us will take the grounds, and the other   
half will take the buildings."  
  
Taggert singled out several of the officers. "You guys come with   
me. We'll cover the grounds."  
  
The remaining officers trailed Garcia and Mulder until they   
reached Wyndemere, where Garcia assigned some to search the  
stables and the exterior of the house, and the remainder to check  
the catacombs beneath the buildings.   
  
Garcia handed Mulder a flashlight and took one for himself. "That  
leaves the rest of the place for you and me. Let's start from the  
top down." As they climbed the stairs toward Wyndemere's highest  
point, he said, "I guess I can play tour guide for you. There've  
been enough crimes committed here for me to become familiar  
with the history of Spoon Island. Have you heard any of the  
stories?"  
  
Mulder bypassed a cracked step as he tried to recall his  
knowledge of the place. One association immediately sprang to  
mind. "I know about Casey the alien from the planet Lumina, who  
came here in search of some crystals he needed in order to return  
home. If you can flesh out that story, I'd be happy to hear more   
details."  
  
Garcia laughed. "That's just a fairy tale, totally blown out of  
proportion. You can't believe everything you hear, you know. I   
meant the *real* history of Spoon Island. As far as I know, this  
place was unremarkable until the late '80s, when Ned Ashton   
bought it as an engagement present for Monica Quartermaine's   
daughter, Dawn Winthrop. A while after they broke off the   
engagement, Ashton rented the island to P.K. Sinclair, a   
reclusive writer who was really the notorious criminal Cesar   
Faison, and that turned out to be a bad thing. Then the   
Cassadines ended up here, and let's just say that was not good,   
either. But it's got to be better than having them live in the   
middle of Port Charles."  
  
They reached the top of the stairs and emerged onto a parapet.   
From a generous distance, Garcia pointed to an innocuous-looking   
stretch of railing. "See that spot? That's where Katherine Bell   
went over the edge twice. The first time, we all thought she had   
died, but she made a dramatic comeback in the courtroom where   
Helena Cassadine was on trial for killing her. The second time,   
Katherine wasn't so lucky. For a while we thought maybe Laura   
Spencer pushed her off, since a blonde person was seen up here   
with Katherine, but it turned out that it was Faison, wearing a   
wig. We couldn't nail him on it, but he's dead now anyway. So I   
guess in a way, it all worked out.  
  
"Katherine wasn't too popular, but no one deserves to die that   
way. And it's not like she didn't establish some connections in   
town. Did you know that she was once engaged to Commissioner   
Scorpio, and married to Ned Ashton?" Without taking another step   
forward, Garcia scanned the area. "Well, nothing up here. Let's   
try the rest of the place." He started back downstairs.   
  
Mulder, however, lingered. He moved up to the railing Garcia had  
indicated and examined it more closely. It looked deceptively   
ordinary; he wouldn't have known it was *the* place if Garcia   
hadn't shown him. It was also a good vantage point for surveying  
much of the rest of the island. Through the glare of the midday   
sun, he saw Taggert and his officers far below, exploring various  
wooded areas and apparently coming up empty-handed. With some  
luck, he would have better results. He exited the parapet and  
moved quickly to catch up to Garcia.   
  
Room by room, they fruitlessly searched the upper levels of   
Wyndemere, then the lower floors, until there was only one place  
left to look. Garcia entered the final room and shook his head.   
"The conservatory. The odds that we'll find anything here are   
practically nil. There's a good story connected to this room,   
though. It's where Stefan Cassadine married Bobbie Spencer. The   
marriage fell apart pretty quickly, but no one expected it to   
last. It was a shock that those two even got together in the   
first place. Now it makes for a nice bit of irony that Luke   
killed his former brother-in-law."   
  
They performed a perfunctory search, and then Garcia checked the   
time. "I wonder if the others have turned up anything." They   
made their way to the front of the house, where a young officer   
spotted them and ran over.   
  
"Detective," he announced breathlessly, "we found a freezer in   
the catacombs."  
  
"Well, lead us to it, Jones," Garcia urged.  
  
Within a few moments, Jones had guided Garcia and Mulder to a   
dimly lit tunnel, and they all shone their flashlights on the   
object in question. It was almost certainly the freezer they were  
looking for; the smell of rotting flesh hung in the air.  
  
Garcia pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Taggert,   
it's Garcia. We found the freezer. You pick up anything?...Okay,  
come on over to the house. Jones will show you where it is...  
Right." He ended the conversation and turned to the officer.   
"Jones, go upstairs and get Taggert."  
  
It looked like Garcia had the situation well in hand, Mulder   
thought. It was his opportunity to set off on his own. He caught  
Garcia's attention. "Detective, I'm going to take a look around   
the grounds."  
  
"Yeah, okay," Garcia said as he knelt beside the freezer and   
trained his flashlight on the ground.  
  
Mulder and Jones walked a twisting path that led to the front   
door, where Mulder clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Good  
work finding that freezer, Jones. You'll go far in the Port   
Charles Police Department."  
  
Jones smiled. "Thank you, sir. That's quite a compliment."  
  
"Take it as you like." Ignoring the officer's puzzled look,   
Mulder cut across the lawn to start his search in the darkest,   
most uninviting stretch of ground: the kind an alien might   
prefer.  
  
*********  
  
The coroner's office wasn't quite the place in which Scully had   
envisioned spending her morning and half of her afternoon. She'd  
arrived expecting to perform the Wilson autopsy. The problem was   
that she hadn't been able to. She was still waiting for the body  
to turn up. In the meantime, she'd amused herself by examining  
the medical records obtained by Langly. The results were more   
than a little frightening, and made her wish instead for a nice,  
dead body to cut up.   
  
Enough was enough, she finally decided. She strode up to the   
receptionist yet again -- but for the last time, she vowed --   
and stated, "I think I've been patient for long enough. Either   
someone tells me where that body is, or I leave."  
  
"I'm sure it will be here soon--" the woman began.  
  
Scully looked the receptionist in the eye and stated, "I want to  
speak to someone in authority. Now."  
  
The woman gulped and reached for the telephone. "I'll try one   
more time to reach Commissioner Scorpio." She let the phone on   
the other end ring a dozen times before hanging up. "I'm sorry,   
he isn't answering. I don't know what else to tell you."  
  
"That I'm wasting my time? Let me know when someone at this place  
gets their act together, or if the commissioner ever reappears."  
Scully spun away from the counter and bumped into a blonde woman   
who was standing at her elbow.  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry!" the woman exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.  
  
"That's all right." Scully stepped around her.  
  
"No, wait," the blonde squeaked. "You just said you're looking   
for my husband. He's on his way over."  
  
Scully looked at the woman in disbelief. "*You're* Felicia  
Scorpio, the Aztec princess?"  
  
"Technically, Felicia Scorpio Jones. When I married Mac, I didn't  
want to confuse my little girls by having a different last name  
than them. And yes, I am an Aztec princess." Felicia beamed. "Can  
we wait outside? I thought Mac was already here, but I guess I   
beat him. I'd rather not wait in a room with a bunch of dead   
bodies if I can help it. I've done it before, and it isn't much  
fun."  
  
Scully nodded, and they made their way out of the building and   
into the brilliant sunlight.   
  
Felicia shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up and down the  
block. "Darn it, I don't see Mac's car anywhere. What could be   
taking him so long? He specifically said that he wanted to talk   
to you."  
  
"And I'd like to talk to him, too, but I have one question. How  
do you know who I am?"  
  
"When Mac checked in at the station a while ago, they said Agent  
Scully was going to do the autopsy. So that must be you! And   
look!" Felicia pointed down the block. "There's Mac!"   
  
So the man walking toward them was the infamous Mac Scorpio. He  
looked ordinary enough, but appearances had repeatedly been   
deceiving over the last few days.   
  
Felicia bounced over and threw her arms around her husband,   
squeezing him tightly.  
  
After about three seconds, he said, "Okay, Felicia, enough," in   
a strangled tone.  
  
She loosened her hold and smiled up at him. "I can't help it. I'm  
just so glad to see you! Oh, Agent Scully's here. I got her for   
you."  
  
Mac reached over and briefly shook Scully's hand. "Good to meet  
you. Is the autopsy over?"  
  
Yes, he was definitely clueless. "As a matter of fact, I haven't   
even been able to start it yet."  
  
Mac nodded. "That's good. I wanted to look at the body first."  
  
"If you can find it, you're welcome to. It's missing."  
  
"What?" Mac stared at her. "How can that be?"  
  
Scully ticked the points off on her fingers. "Last night, Agent  
Mulder and I caught Emily Quartermaine, Nikolas Cassadine, Lucky  
Spencer, and Juan Santiago on the docks with the body. We  
notified the police, and they made the arrests and presumably   
collected the body. Since I regularly perform autopsies in my   
line of work, I asked to do this one. Upon my arrival at the   
morgue, I learned that the body wasn't here. No one has been able  
to track it down yet. And Commissioner, I have to question why   
you don't already know all of this information. Each of these   
events has occurred in your jurisdiction."  
  
Mac glanced at Felicia. "I've been busy lately. A close friend is  
having personal problems, and my wife came back to town yesterday  
after several weeks away. We've had a lot to discuss. I assure   
you, I'll get to the bottom of this situation immediately."  
  
"While you're doing that, I'm going to call Mulder. He's still on  
Spoon Island with your officers." Scully dialed his number and   
soon heard his usual answer.  
  
"Mulder."  
  
She gave her typical response. "Mulder, it's me."  
  
"Hey, Scully. Finish the autopsy yet?"  
  
"That's the question of the day. The answer is no. I'm still at   
the morgue, though. Apparently, they managed to lose Ted   
Wilson's body."  
  
"Temporarily misplaced," Mac said over her shoulder.  
  
"Who's with you?" Mulder asked.  
  
Scully covered the mouthpiece. "Commissioner, please excuse me."  
She moved several steps away and addressed Mulder again. "That  
was Mac Scorpio. He finally woke up to what's been going on in   
his own backyard. From the way he acts, though, I don't think his  
presence will make much difference. He exudes incompetence. Even   
his accent sounds fake. So, how are *you* doing?"  
  
His frustrated voice crackled across the line. "There's not a   
trace of an alien presence on this island. Nothing. On the bright  
side, one of the officers found the freezer. And right at this   
second, I might well be standing in the very clearing where   
Katherine Bell was shot and temporarily paralyzed. This could be  
the highlight of my day, next to standing on the parapet where   
she fell twice. There was a murder trial, but it turned out she   
wasn't dead."  
  
Scully groaned. "Mulder, I think we need to get a statement from  
Ms. Bell. Because frankly, what you say is scaring me. Badly."  
  
"Unfortunately, we can't talk to her. Katherine Bell was murdered  
last year."  
  
Confused, Scully questioned, "But I thought you said she wasn't   
really dead?"  
  
"She wasn't, the first time," Mulder clarified. "She was pushed  
off a parapet in both 1998 and 1999. In 1998, she didn't die. In  
1999, she did."  
  
"Enough. Why don't we move on? Are you about ready to come back?"  
  
Mulder hesitated, then said, "Yeah, I think so. This place wasn't  
exactly the gold mine I expected. And the police are probably   
ready to leave, too. I wouldn't want to miss my ride."  
  
"All right, I'll meet you at the docks."  
  
"Why the hurry, Scully? We could just meet up at Kelly's, unless  
you have a destination in mind."  
  
"Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, I do. We haven't met Bobbie Spencer  
or whatever her last name is, not to mention her boyfriend Roy  
and daughter Carly and ex-husband Tony who happens to be Chloe's  
doctor. And then there's Sonny Corinthos. According to our notes,  
he's never been presumed dead, falsely charged with murder, or   
blind, deaf, or paralyzed."  
  
"Don't worry," Mulder reassured her, "we're safe. I think we   
missed one or two kidnappings, and who knows what else. By the   
way, did you get a chance to go over those medical records yet?"  
  
"Yes, I compared pre- and post-disappearance records, and there's  
no evidence of what you claim are the classic indicators of  
alien abduction. But you'll be interested to hear that I uncovered  
many other irregularities. For instance, say someone was blinded.  
No problem. Before they got around to learning Braille, they   
miraculously regained their sight. Paralyzed? Up and walking   
within the year without so much as a limp to remind them of their  
ordeal. It's happened too many times to be pure coincidence. And  
before you ask, no, as far as I know, no one in town purports to   
be a miracle healer."  
  
Mulder was silent for a moment, apparently digesting that   
information. "I have a few things to add," he eventually offered.  
"Nothing as spectacular as your discoveries, but intriguing  
nonetheless. For instance: These people do not own normal pets.  
No cats, no parrots, no hamsters, no ferrets, no goldfish."  
  
"I've seen three dogs and a duck," Scully countered.  
  
"I repeat, *normal* pets. That duck once took the witness stand  
at a murder trial. Didn't you see the transcript Byers sent   
over?"  
  
"I'm glad I didn't." Scully paused to regroup. "We were talking   
about Sonny Corinthos, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Do you want to see him first?"  
  
"Do you think it makes any difference?" Scully replied. "No, we  
can save him for later. A.J. mentioned a possible discrimination  
case against Bobbie for refusing to rent or sell to him. She  
should be next on our list."  
  
end 6/8  
  
  
  



	7. Ch. 7

  
TITLE: The Port Charles Files 7/8  
by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com)   
  
*********  
  
"This is it: the famous brownstone." Mulder slid the Dodge into  
an empty space along the curb and turned off the ignition.   
"Ready, Scully?"  
  
She ignored him as she jotted some notes on her pad.  
  
"Ready?" he repeated.   
  
She still didn't reply.  
  
"What are you doing?" Mulder leaned over to get a closer look.  
  
"Which sounds better, Mulder?" Scully held up the notepad and   
read, "Hannah Scott, setting back the advancement of women in the  
Bureau by a good five years; or, the Port Charles Police   
Department doesn't let the legalities stand in their way, so why  
should we?"  
  
"What's that, Scully?" Mulder made a grab for the paper.  
  
Scully let him have it without a fight. "That's our progress   
report for Skinner. It's much harder to write than I thought it  
would be. How do we express the full gravity of the situation   
while remaining within the bounds of credibility? And I'm just on  
the part about Hannah."  
  
Mulder read, "'There was a time when one actually had to be   
qualified to join and remain in the FBI. Has that day truly passed  
us by? Because Agents Scott and Larkin appear to be sterling   
examples of all that is wrong. The mystery is, why weren't they  
fired long ago? And when Agent Scott tried to resign, why wasn't   
she allowed to?'"   
  
"Anything you want to add about her, Mulder?" Scully asked.  
  
"No, I think that about summed it up." He tossed the pad into the  
backseat. "Forget the report. I'll write it later. We have more   
important things to do right now. The brownstone, remember?" He   
knew he was safe. There was no way Scully would let him send in   
the report. He just needed to distract her from it until she felt  
less frustrated.   
  
Scully closed her eyes and recited, "All right. The brownstone's   
owner is Bobbie, who is Luke Spencer's sister, Stefan Cassadine's  
ex-wife, Roy DiLucca's girlfriend, Carly Benson's mother, Tony   
Jones' ex-wife, A.J. Quartermaine's former mother-in-law, and   
Lucky Spencer's aunt. We need to question her on several points,  
including A.J.'s contention that she discriminated against him by  
refusing to rent him a room or sell him the building. Let's go."  
  
They walked up to the house side by side, and Scully rang the   
bell.   
  
A red-haired woman opened the door. "Tony, I--" She stopped.   
"You're not Tony."  
  
"Hello, Bobbie Spencer Brock Meyer Jones Cassadine?" Scully asked.  
  
"Just Bobbie is fine. How can I help you?"  
  
"FBI." They held up their badges and gave their names.  
  
Bobbie's neutral expression changed to dismay. "Not again. This   
isn't about Roy, is it?"  
  
"No, we want--" Scully said.   
  
Bobbie interrupted. "Luke, then? Lucky? Jerry?"  
  
"None of the above," Mulder assured her. "We're much more   
interested in your personal history, and it's in an unofficial   
capacity."  
  
Bobbie shook her head. "I don't think so." She started to close   
the door.  
  
Mulder was struck by inspiration. "Agent Scully is a friend of  
Hannah Scott's. Isn't that right, Scully?"  
  
She probably wanted to cringe, but managed a simple nod.  
  
Bobbie instantly swung the door wide. "Oh, in that case, I can   
give you a few minutes. I know Hannah quite well."  
  
They entered the living room, where Mulder and Scully sat on the   
couch as Bobbie chose a cozy armchair near the window. In the   
next second, a brown-haired man of around Bobbie's age burst in   
the front door. "Sorry I'm late, Bobbie." He then noticed her   
companions. "Sorry again. I didn't mean to interrupt." He turned   
to leave.  
  
"No, come in," Bobbie invited. "Tony, this is the FBI. Agents  
Mulder and Scully. And no, they're not here because of Roy or  
Luke, or even Jerry. They want to talk about *me*. Agents, this   
is my ex-husband, Dr. Tony Jones. I've been expecting him. It's   
all right if he stays, isn't it?"  
  
"No problem," Mulder agreed. "We want to talk to him, too."  
  
Tony looked startled. "Me? About what?"  
  
"Chloe Morgan," Scully explained. "Specifically, her supposed   
visions."  
  
Tony crossed the room and settled into an easy chair across from  
Scully. "Chloe mentioned you. She said something about how you're  
helping Jax avoid arrest."  
  
Mulder looked sharply at Scully -- she hadn't mentioned that  
incident to him -- as she answered vaguely, "That remains to be   
seen. Chloe claims that you informed her that her dreams could   
indeed have been caused by her brain tumor."  
  
"Yes, I did."  
  
"Yet when you yourself developed a brain tumor and went blind   
some years ago, nothing of that nature happened to you, did it?"  
  
"Every situation is different, Agent Scully," Tony said   
placidly. "As a matter of fact, my life has been so quiet in the   
last couple of years, you wouldn't think I was the same person as  
I was back then."  
  
"That, I can believe," Scully admitted. "Thank you, Dr. Jones.   
You confirmed my expectations."  
  
And not in a good way, Mulder knew. He addressed their hostess.  
"So, Bobbie, we understand you've undergone some unusual   
experiences."  
  
She looked puzzled. "I don't know what you could possibly mean.  
My life is pretty ordinary."  
  
Mulder listed from memory, "What about your participation in the  
capture of a crooked FBI agent, your marriage to your brother's  
nemesis, Stefan Cassadine, and your reunion with the adult   
daughter you gave up for adoption when she was a baby? And   
weren't you falsely accused of murdering one of your ex-  
husbands?"  
  
Bobbie smiled slightly. "Now that you mention it, I suppose I've  
had my moments."  
  
"Continuing the trend, weren't you temporarily blinded?" Scully  
pressed.  
  
"Not exactly. I faked my condition in an attempt to hold onto a   
man. It didn't work."   
  
"According to our notes, you also faked a pregnancy," Scully   
pointed out.  
  
"That was to keep a *different* man. And it also didn't work."   
Bobbie shrugged. "Hey, I was young and foolish then. We all do   
dumb things when we're kids."  
  
Mulder picked up the questioning. "Have you suffered from any   
other noteworthy medical conditions?"  
  
Bobbie was quiet for a handful of seconds before saying, "I  
can't think of any."  
  
"Your memory's slipping," Tony interjected. "You were paralyzed   
for a while."  
  
Bobbie snapped her fingers. "That's right. How could I have   
forgotten? Thank you, Tony."  
  
"You didn't fake that condition, too, did you?" Mulder asked.  
  
Bobbie drew herself up a little straighter. "No, I learn from my   
mistakes."  
  
Mulder pushed his luck and asked, "Which would explain why you've  
been married four times, and it would have been five but for the   
fact that your fiance was arrested during your most recent   
wedding?"  
  
Bobbie looked coldly at him, as Tony flinched.  
  
Scully broke the silence. "Bobbie, can you expand a bit on your   
kidnapping?"  
  
Bobbie turned to face her more fully. "Which one?"  
  
Scully selected at random. "The one in 1992."  
  
"Oh, that. Well, I started to correspond with Joseph Atkins, an   
imprisoned cop killer. At first he seemed like he'd changed for   
the better, but then I had reason to question his behavior. When   
he wanted me to support his bid for parole, I told him no. He   
escaped from custody and abducted me for revenge. That was   
another close call."  
  
There wasn't much one could say to a woman like Bobbie. Mulder   
decided to finish up their business so they could move on to more  
promising pursuits. "There's just one more matter we have to   
touch on: A.J. Quartermaine's claim that you discriminated   
against him."  
  
Bobbie rolled her eyes. "He's still going on about *that*? He   
tried to rent a room and I didn't want him living here because  
of the way he's treated my daughter. I had every right to turn   
him down, and if you say differently, I--"  
  
The ringing of the front doorbell cut off her tirade. "Excuse   
me." Bobbie stalked to the door, where she greeted her newest   
visitors. "Carly, Sonny, what are you doing here?"  
  
Mulder whispered to Scully, "Looks like we hit the jackpot. We   
can cross Sonny's penthouse off our list, because he and Carly   
have come to us."  
  
Bobbie reentered the living room with Sonny and Carly close   
behind. Spotting the agents, Sonny stopped dead, looking less   
than thrilled.  
  
Carly tugged on his arm. "Do you know those people? Who are   
they?"  
  
"Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI," Bobbie answered for   
Sonny. "Nothing's wrong. They just wanted to ask me a few   
questions."  
  
"Scully, I think we'd better get these two in separate rooms,"   
Mulder said so quietly only she could hear.  
  
"That's if they'll talk to us at all," she whispered back. "But  
you're right. We'll stand a better chance if we can get them   
apart."  
  
Bobbie turned to them. "Tony and I have plans with our son. We   
have to go out now."   
  
Mulder nodded. "We've concluded our business with you. But we'd   
like to talk to Mr. Corinthos and your daughter."  
  
Sonny stiffened. "What about?"  
  
"It's purely informal," Mulder assured him. "We want to discuss   
several people, including A.J. Quartermaine."  
  
"That's right," Bobbie told Sonny. "A.J. is still complaining   
that I discriminated against him. Maybe you two can help   
straighten out that misconception. You didn't come here about   
anything really important, did you? Because Tony and I have to   
get going."  
  
"It can wait," Sonny said. "I'd like to help you, Bobbie. And I   
guess I can spare a few minutes for Agent Mulder." He looked at   
Scully. "But Agent Scully, you claimed that you're not related   
to Joe Scully. Maybe you're not. But I still don't want to talk   
to you. And I don't want Carly talking to you, either."  
  
Carly scowled. "Sonny, I think I've proven that I can more than   
hold my own against FBI agents."  
  
He hesitated, then admitted, "Yeah, I guess you have. We'll give   
it a try, then."  
  
"Separately?" Mulder suggested.  
  
"Separately," Sonny agreed. "But only for a few minutes."  
  
Bobbie smiled. "I'm glad that's all straightened out. Carly, can  
you lock up when you leave?" She and Tony waved goodbye and   
exited the house.  
  
Carly looked at Scully. "We can go in the kitchen." She led the   
way farther into the house, as Mulder and Sonny settled down in   
the living room. Once in the kitchen, Carly plopped down on a   
wooden chair, crossed her legs, and plunged right in. "You have   
something on A.J.? How can I help you nail him?"  
  
Scully took a seat at the opposite end of the table. "I understand  
you were once married to A.J."  
  
"Yeah. So?" Carly sat forward.  
  
"Do you know his birthday?"  
  
"November 18. And I'm pretty sure 1972 is the right year," Carly   
said in a puzzled tone.  
  
That was the date on the medical records and the driver's   
license, but it contradicted the information given by Amy and   
Lesley. "Are you sure about the month?" Scully asked.  
  
"That's the date we celebrated it on together last year, before   
I shook myself free from him. What does his birthday have to do   
with anything, anyway?"  
  
"Maybe more than you know," Scully said cryptically. "How would   
you describe your relationship with your ex-husband?"  
  
With a disgusted expression, Carly replied, "Horrible.   
Antagonistic. I'd be happy if I never saw his face again."  
  
"Which would explain why your mother wouldn't want to have him   
living in her house."  
  
"If you knew A.J. like we do, you wouldn't blame her. So, he must  
be in some sort of trouble. What is it?"  
  
Scully shook her head. "I can't discuss any details with you. But  
it seems that legal problems tend to surround you and those you   
know. Hannah Scott told me about your and Sonny's troubles."  
  
Carly laughed. "Shows you how much Hannah knows, then. The cops   
can't touch Sonny. They underestimated him, yet again."  
  
The last she'd heard, Scully recalled, was that Sonny was as good  
as convicted. Of course, considering that Hannah was her source,  
that information didn't carry much weight. She could probably   
persuade Carly to share her side of the story. "What do you   
mean? Hannah says the exact opposite."  
  
Carly twisted a strand of hair around her index finger and looked  
consideringly at Scully. "I guess I can tell you. Everyone will   
know soon enough anyway, and it can't hurt us now. What happened  
was, Sonny's father Mike borrowed money from a loan shark who   
turned out to be working for Sorel, an enemy of Sonny's. I wanted  
to get Sorel arrested, so I had Mike arrange a meeting in a hotel  
room. I tipped off the police and hid in the closet with a tape   
recorder, only Sonny found out about the meeting and showed up.   
Sorel tried to blackmail Sonny into agreeing to traffic drugs,  
then those eavesdropping cops burst in and arrested Sonny and   
took away my tape. Sonny never actually agreed to anything   
illegal, but his lawyer, Alexis Davis, told him he'd probably   
go to prison anyway because of my testimony and the circum-  
stancial evidence. It looked pretty bad until Alexis thought of a  
way out. See, I married Sonny yesterday, and spouses can't be   
forced to testify against each other in court." Carly sat back   
and smiled smugly.  
  
Scully stared at her. "Carly, don't you realize that...no,   
obviously not. Never mind. Why don't we just move on?" She tried   
to think of some filler material and came up with, "How do you   
usually spend your time?"  
  
Carly wrinkled her forehead. "Wow, that's a tough one. Um, I   
play with my son and take him to the park. I argue with my   
mother, and A.J., and Sonny, and Hannah, and Elizabeth Webber,   
and anyone else who annoys me, which is pretty much everyone.   
What else?... Oh, I know! I'm one mean roulette player. I never,  
ever, ever lose. Sonny taught me how to play."  
  
"Yes...?" Scully waited for elaboration, but went on when Carly   
remained silent. "I must have missed something. Roulette is a   
game of luck, not skill. You can't win every single time."  
  
Carly looked her straight in the eye. "If you believe in   
yourself, you will."  
  
***********  
  
Meanwhile, Mulder was experiencing a remarkable lack of success  
in his talk with Sonny. Sonny's side of the conversation   
basically consisted of answers like:   
  
"Yes, I was once engaged to Brenda Barrett."  
  
"Yes, I helped ruin Brenda's second wedding to Jasper Jacks."  
  
"Yes, I was business partners with Luke Spencer for a while."  
  
"Yes, Lucky Spencer used to work for me."  
  
"Yes, I know Hannah Scott, and that's all I'm going to say about   
her."  
  
In fact, it turned out that Sonny was acquainted with virtually   
everyone Mulder and Scully had met so far, although he was   
unwilling to give many details about those people. When Carly and  
Scully's reappearance interrupted the stagnant discussion, it was  
almost a relief.   
  
Sonny instantly stood. "You ready to go, Carly?"  
  
"Yeah, let me just lock the doors and we can go." Carly left the  
room, presumably to check side or back doors.  
  
"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Corinthos," Mulder said   
perfunctorily as he and Scully walked to the front door.  
  
"Yeah, sure," Sonny said with a notable lack of enthusiasm.  
  
Outside, Mulder and Scully got in the car before Mulder said,  
"Before you ask, Sonny didn't say anything worth mentioning. He's  
obviously a veteran at withstanding questioning, which must come   
in handy when he's hauled to the police station every month or   
so. What did you learn from Carly?"  
  
"That if you trust your instincts when playing roulette, you  
can't lose."  
  
"In that case, why don't we just quit our jobs right now and fly  
to Vegas?" Mulder waited for Scully to join in the joke, but she  
didn't so much as crack a smile. "You're serious?"  
  
"Well, Carly certainly was. But I haven't told you the best part  
yet. Carly and Sonny got married yesterday."  
  
Mulder thought back to their meeting. "Neither of them was   
wearing a wedding ring."  
  
"It probably happened so suddenly that they didn't have time to   
go shopping," Scully informed him. "Because according to Carly,   
the reason they got married was because Sonny's lawyer said that  
then she wouldn't have to testify against him, and the drug-  
trafficking charges would be dropped for lack of evidence."  
  
Mulder shook his head. "Does this lawyer have a real degree, or   
did they hire someone from off the street? Even I know better   
than that."  
  
Scully watched through the window as Carly and Sonny exited the   
brownstone, smiling and laughing. "I didn't have the heart to   
tell Carly that their little loophole only applies to private   
conversations that take place after a marriage, not witnessed   
meetings that occurred before. Anyway, the way legal matters go   
in this town, she might never have to learn the truth."  
  
"One good thing: We got the discrimination angle out of the   
way." Mulder figuratively checked that item off their to-do list  
and thought of the next most pressing matter. "What about the   
mystery of A.J.'s birthday?"  
  
"November 18, 1972, if you go by what Carly says," Scully   
reported. "She was married to him at the time of his birthday   
celebration last year."  
  
"All right. This time, we go to A.J. and his parents to learn the  
truth, once and for all," Mulder decided.  
  
*********  
  
Mulder, with Scully close behind, stepped off the elevator on the  
fourth floor of General Hospital. "Alan Quartermaine said he'd   
meet us right over...there." The doctor was indeed seated in the   
nearest waiting room, absorbed in the business section of "USA   
Today." Mulder and Scully crossed the hall to greet him.   
  
As they across from him, Alan put aside the newspaper. "Hello,   
agents. What can I do for you? My wife's running a little late,  
but she'll be here any minute. I'm a bit pressed for time   
myself -- I'm the chief of staff, you know -- so if we can make   
this quick, I'd appreciate it. On the phone, you said you wanted  
to discuss A.J. He isn't in trouble, is he?"  
  
Mulder said, "It isn't trouble, precisely. We're just confused   
over a certain issue. We've heard conflicting information about   
A.J.'s birth date."  
  
"His birth date?" Alan echoed. "I don't understand what that could  
have to do with...well, basically, with *anything*."  
  
Scully picked up the story. "Lesley Webber claims to have helped  
deliver your son."  
  
Alan nodded.  
  
"In December of 1979," Mulder added.  
  
Alan frowned. "No, A.J. was born on November 18, 1972. Poor   
Lesley. Her memory must have been affected by the drugs she was   
fed while being held prisoner by Helena Cassadine for over a   
decade."  
  
Mulder said, "The matter is more involved than just that. Nurse   
Amy Vining informed us that you didn't meet your wife until   
1977."  
  
"Well, that's true," Alan said.  
  
Mulder and Scully exchanged a startled glance.   
  
"Is A.J. your and Monica's biological child?" Mulder asked  
carefully.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then, if you didn't know Monica prior to 1977, how could your   
biological son have been born in 1972?"  
  
Alan looked blank, and then said, "Just one moment." He pulled   
his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed. "Hello,   
Monica? Are you almost done?...Good. Get that copy of A.J.'s   
birth certificate from his file and bring it with you, okay?...  
Right. Fourth floor, waiting room near the nurses' station." He   
hung up and turned back to his companions. "As I speak, Monica is  
on her way with A.J.'s birth certificate. That should sort things  
out." He sat back in his seat as if he hadn't a care in the   
world.  
  
"Excuse me." Scully caught his eye. "I just asked you to explain   
how your son could have been born in 1972 when you didn't meet   
your wife until five years later, and you acted like you didn't   
even hear me."  
  
"Monica's on her way," Alan repeated, smiling and nodding.  
  
"Think we have a problem here?" Mulder whispered to Scully.  
  
She looked beyond him. "It's a distinct possibility. Monica   
certainly got here quickly."  
  
Monica walked up, an expression of curiosity on her face. "Hello,  
agents." She sat beside Alan and handed him a paper. "Why did you  
ask for A.J.'s birth certificate?"  
  
Alan scanned the page. "Because Agents Mulder and Scully have it   
fixed in their heads that A.J. was born in 1979, when we both   
know that isn't the truth. Ah, here we are!" He leaned forward   
and shoved the paper in Mulder's face. "There it is: November 18,  
1972. And if this isn't proof enough for you, go to the county   
courthouse and look at the original."  
  
Mulder pushed the certificate away. "No, Mr. Quartermaine, this   
*isn't* good enough. You've already contradicted yourself, though  
I don't know why."  
  
Monica snapped, "Will someone *please* tell me what you're all   
talking about? I feel like I've walked into the theater in the   
middle of a movie, and it's a bad farce, at that."  
  
Alan sighed. "Monica, bear with me and tell the agents when A.J.  
was born."  
  
"November 18, 1972." Monica scowled. "Why?"  
  
"When did you meet Alan?" Mulder asked.  
  
"In 1977. What is this about?"  
  
Scully took the next point. "You met your husband in 1977. Yet   
according to both of you, your son was born before that time."  
  
Monica's face turned red. "What on earth are you talking about?   
That doesn't make any sense."  
  
"Exactly what we say," Mulder replied.   
  
Alan raised his voice. "We told you nothing of the sort!"  
  
Scully held up a hand. "Let's just go over this one more time,   
calmly. You two." She pointed at Alan and Monica. "Your son was   
born in 1972. You met in 1977. The year 1972 comes before the   
year 1977. Are we in agreement so far?"  
  
Monica clasped Alan's left hand as they chorused, "Yes."  
  
"We've made no progress, then," Scully concluded.  
  
"Yes, we have," Alan insisted. "I have no idea why the FBI is   
butting into our business, but it certainly speaks poorly for you  
that you apparently feel the need to harass innocent people.   
Please excuse us. Monica?" He turned to his wife.  
  
Monica's face contorted, and she recited, "A.J. was born in   
1972. Alan and I met in 1977. A.J. was born in 1972. Alan and I   
met in...."  
  
Alan patted Monica on the back and addressed Mulder and Scully   
above her monotone. "Now that you've succeeded in upsetting my   
wife for no reason at all, I hope you have the grace to leave us   
alone."  
  
"But--" Scully began.  
  
Mulder grabbed her arm and urged her down the corridor. "Let's go."  
  
"Mulder," she protested as she twisted around to look back at the  
waiting room. "I think Monica was on the verge of making a   
breakthrough."  
  
"Yeah. So do I," he agreed as they reached the elevator. "That's   
what I'm afraid of."  
  
"Afraid? Why?"  
  
The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside the empty   
conveyance. Mulder punched the ground-floor button. "You want to  
hear my theory? This town is stuck in some kind of warp that   
started in 1963. The residents operate on a different plane of   
reality than the rest of the world. That's why so many crazy   
things happen here. They're also essentially blind to the truth.  
Whenever it's pointed out to them, they react with denial or a   
mental block. Just now, Alan had the denial reaction, and Monica   
was fighting the block. I believe if we pointed out a contra-  
dictory situation similar to the mystery of A.J.'s birth date to   
anyone else in Port Charles, the exact same thing would happen."  
  
"Not that I necessarily believe you're right," Scully said, "but   
if you were, wouldn't it have been best to encourage Monica to   
battle through the mental block? To reach an epiphany, if she   
could?"  
  
Mulder shook his head. "No. In fact, the results could be   
extremely dangerous. If Monica had come to her senses, the fabric  
of the Port Charles universe might have collapsed, and the   
consequences of that are unknown."  
  
The elevator reached the first floor. The doors opened. Scully  
exited and headed down yet another corridor.   
  
"Scully?" Mulder said as he hurried to catch up. "What are you   
thinking?"  
  
"I'm thinking," she replied, "that I still favor the theory that  
they're all insane."  
  
In that case, silence really did say everything.  
  
end 7/8  
  
  



	8. Ch. 8

  
TITLE: The Port Charles Files 8/8  
by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com)   
  
*********  
  
At a little before nine the day after their strange encounter   
with the Quartermaines at General Hospital, Scully made her way  
to Mulder's door. "Time to get back to work!" she greeted him.   
  
"I've been working," he insisted. "No luck yet, though.   
According to 'The History of Port Charles,' nothing particularly  
noteworthy happened in 1963. The cause of the warp remains a   
mystery. What about you? Has Skinner replied to the progress   
report you e-mailed him?"  
  
"No. Maybe he hasn't read it yet, or maybe he doesn't know quite   
what to say."   
  
She led the way down the stairs to the diner, and they took their  
seats at the counter. Tammy stood a few feet away, talking to a   
gray-haired man who wore a faded plaid shirt and jeans. She   
touched him on the shoulder and indicated the new arrivals.   
"Mike, here are FBI Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully."  
  
"Scully, huh?" Mike muttered. "No offense, but that's not one of  
my favorite names. Excuse me." He turned and strode out the door.  
  
Scully turned to Mulder. "It doesn't make sense. If these people   
want to make a big deal about anyone's name, why don't they pick  
on 'Fox'?"  
  
Tammy poured them each a cup of coffee. "Honey, you landed in a   
town where names like Frisco, Buzz, and Stone are commonplace.   
Deal with it. As for Mike, he has good reason for his reaction.   
Several years ago, he stepped in front of a bullet meant for his  
own son. A bullet fired by a man named Scully."  
  
Scully quickly made the connection. "Mike is Sonny Corinthos'   
father? When he was shot, he didn't happen to be temporarily   
paralyzed, did he?"  
  
"No. Why would you think that?"  
  
Scully shrugged. "A wild guess."  
  
"Yeah, right. Look, I have to go wait on some customers. I'm   
short-handed again. For some reason, Elizabeth Webber has called   
in sick two days in a row." Tammy grabbed her order pad and   
moved away.  
  
"What was up with that question about the temporary paralysis?"   
Mulder asked.  
  
Scully took a sip of her coffee before replying. "Taking into   
account everything we've learned, I had roughly a 50-50 chance of  
being right."  
  
Tammy hurried back to them. "Hey, I almost forgot. Laura Spencer  
left a message for you." She pulled an envelope out of her apron   
pocket and handed it to Mulder, then left again.  
  
Mulder ripped open the envelope. "Maybe she sent more information  
about Lucky, or about the Cassadine case." He shook out three   
items: a note, a letter, and a photo. He skimmed the note first.  
"Laura says she's enclosed a photo of Helena Cassadine, taken in  
1981 when Laura married Luke. There's also a letter Laura received   
from Stefan right after he disappeared." He picked up the photo  
and did a double-take. "Wait here, Scully. I have to check on   
something." Picture in hand, he circled the counter and jogged up  
the stairs.  
  
Typical Mulder behavior. Scully decided to read the letter while  
she waited for him to return and share his discovery.   
  
"My dearest Laura,  
If you're reading this, it will be because I am dead,   
murdered by your husband. Luke's threats against me have   
become increasingly violent. Despite all proof to the   
contrary, he continues to blame me for Lucky's kidnap [sic]   
and imprisonment. Luke has asked me to meet with him tonight,   
and I've agreed."  
  
Scully scanned the next several lines, which consisted of   
ramblings about Laura's sons, and skipped ahead.   
  
"Perhaps my death will mark the end of war between our two   
families, so you and your children may live in peace and   
happiness. I regret the lies and secrecy, everything I did to   
put distance between us. You are, always have been, so   
precious to me. My love for you is still there, even if I am  
not.   
  
Stefan"  
  
Scully laid aside the page. The wording sounded peculiar, almost   
as if the man had planned the events of that fateful evening even  
as he penned the words.   
  
Mulder returned, holding two items. "Don't look yet, Scully." He   
sat beside her, covering one object with his right palm, the   
other with his left. "Here's a photo of Helena Cassadine that was  
taken in 1981." He lifted his right hand.   
  
Dutifully, Scully looked to see a dark-haired woman with deep   
violet eyes.   
  
"Now look at this picture, taken two weeks ago." Mulder moved his  
left hand away from the second photo.   
  
Scully eyed that one as well, then looked more closely. "Mulder,   
are you sure that's the same woman? How could she go from  
looking like Elizabeth Taylor to looking like *that*?" She stared  
in disbelief at the image of the older blonde woman who bore no   
more than a passing resemblance to the famous actress.  
  
"Your guess is as good as mine." He scooped up the pictures and   
reached for the letter. "Did you read this yet?"  
  
"Yes. Basically, Stefan Cassadine predicted his own death and   
pinned the blame on Luke Spencer ahead of time, if you choose to   
believe what he wrote."  
  
Tammy walked over to the cash register just in time to hear those  
last words. "Luke didn't kill anyone. The police are the only   
ones who think he did. Who knows Luke better: His friends and   
family, or the cops? You mind if I turn the radio on?" Without   
waiting for an answer, she flicked the power switch and tuned in   
a station.   
  
After a burst of static, the announcer's voice came on. "This is   
News Station WXPC. We have breaking news in the murder of   
undercover officer Ted Wilson. Attorney Alexis Davis, who   
represents Emily Quartermaine, one of four teenagers charged with  
the crime, is about to make a statement at the Port Charles   
police station. Sources speculate that she will attempt a legal   
ploy to secure the release of her client."  
  
Mulder looked at Scully. "Isn't that a coincidence? Tammy turned  
on the radio just in time for us to hear vital information about   
a subject we were in the middle of discussing. Or *is* it a   
coincidence?"   
  
"We can figure it out later, Mulder," Scully said impatiently.  
"Right now, we have to get to the police station."  
  
*********  
  
So many vehicles lined the streets surrounding the station that  
Mulder was forced to park the Dodge several blocks away. He and  
Scully walked the remainder of the distance along with a sea of  
other interested observers, which included many familiar faces.  
They pushed into the station on the heels of Roy DiLucca and  
Elizabeth Webber, and just in front of Tony Jones.   
  
A few police officers attempted to corral the flood of occupants   
into some semblance of order, while other law-enforcement   
officials grouped near the head of the room. An efficient-looking  
woman holding a briefcase seemed to be the focus of attention.   
Mac Scorpio stood beside her, with Ned Ashton right behind. A   
phalanx of reporters lined up with cameras and tape recorders at   
the ready.   
  
Mulder jumped sideways as a sharp elbow poked into his ribs.   
Lesley Webber shoved past him, snapping, "Thanks for arresting my  
grandson when I asked you to help him."   
  
Mulder rubbed his side. "Scully, since when did it become a crime  
to make an arrest? Oh, wait, I forgot: We're in Port Charles,   
where the rules change every day." He spotted a few feet of free  
space at the back of the room and edged in that direction.   
"We'll be safer over here. More out of the way."   
  
They staked out their position and surveyed their surroundings.   
A.J. Quartermaine, Sonny Corinthos, Lieutenant Taggert, Alan   
Quartermaine, and many other acquaintances were also present.   
Even Lila sat in her wheelchair in a sheltered position. Next to   
her, Monica caught Mulder's eye. She stared at him with a frozen   
expression until Alan tapped her on the shoulder and gained her  
attention.   
  
Mulder leaned down so Scully could hear him above the noise of   
the crowd. "It looks like a who's who of nut cases is assembled   
here. Is anyone missing?"   
  
"Well, I haven't seen Hannah Scott yet."   
  
Mulder looked over her shoulder. "Speak of the devil..."   
  
Hannah ducked between and around people to reach them just as   
Scully turned to face her. "Dana, I'm so glad I finally tracked   
you down. I've been dying to congratulate you on your big bust.   
I would have done it sooner, but I've been busy with a case of my  
own. Do you want to hear about it?"   
  
"No, but I'm sure you'll tell her anyway," Mulder muttered.   
  
"Excuse me?" Hannah looked inquiringly at him.   
  
Scully stepped back a few extra inches. "Hannah, this is Agent  
Mulder. Mulder, Hannah Scott."   
  
A wide smile spread across Hannah's face. "So you're Dana's   
partner. It's an honor to meet you!"   
  
"Likewise," Mulder said. "By the way, have you seen Lieutenant   
Taggert yet? He was asking about you earlier."   
  
"Really?" Hannah scanned the room. "There he is! Thanks for   
telling me." She disappeared into the crowd.   
  
Unrepentant, Mulder informed Scully, "It seemed like the easiest   
way of getting rid of her."   
  
"Shhh!" she hissed. "I think the meeting's starting."   
  
Gradually, the room quieted. The woman with the briefcase waited   
until all eyes were on her. "As most of you know, my name is   
Alexis Davis. I am representing Emily Quartermaine in the case   
of the murder of Ted Wilson. Here are the facts: On June 30,   
Emily, Lucky Spencer, Juan Santiago, and Nikolas Cassadine   
attended a rave. At the rave, Emily argued with Juan and left   
with a man she had just met. The next morning, she woke up in a   
motel room next to the man's dead body. Emily had no memory of   
events since the preceding night. She alerted her friends, and   
they determined that an unknown person had slipped a drug into   
Emily's drink, followed her and her companion, and killed him   
while she slept. They also decided that if they went to the   
police, Emily would be charged with murder. Therefore, they hid   
the body in a freezer at Nikolas' home, Wyndemere, and   
investigated the incident themselves. They eventually learned   
that the dead man was Ted Wilson, an undercover police officer,   
and they believed his killer to be a drug dealer named Zander.   
Their original plan was to take Wilson's body out of storage,   
place it in the trunk of Zander's car, and call in an anonymous   
tip to the police that Zander was dealing drugs. Then the body   
would be found, and the entire situation would be straightened   
out. However, the arrival of FBI Agents Mulder and Scully   
accelerated the kids' plan." She stared at the agents, and every  
other pair of eyes in the room followed her gaze.   
  
Alexis continued, "Concerned that the authorities were on to   
them, Emily, Juan, Lucky, and Nikolas prepared to move the body   
earlier than expected. However, on that night, the afore-  
mentioned agents caught them. I was then hired to represent   
Emily.   
  
"Some interesting facts have since come to light. For instance,   
Elizabeth Webber was also present at the rave and was involved in  
the scheme to conceal the body." Startled gasps and murmurs   
filled the room. Alexis allowed them to die down before going on.  
"No need to worry. I have every confidence that the charges   
against each of these innocent young people will soon be dropped.  
  
"Because yesterday, while being transported to the morgue, Ted   
Wilson's body disappeared. A smudged fingerprint was found on the  
back door of the vehicle. That fingerprint belongs to...Stefan   
Cassadine!"   
  
That announcement created such an uproar that the police had to   
repeatedly call for quiet. Once silence prevailed, Alexis   
proceeded. "The police have been telling us for weeks that   
Stefan is dead and that Luke Spencer killed him. Now what are we   
to believe? That a dead man stole the body? I say we deserve   
answers, and my client, along with her friends, deserves an   
immediate release!"   
  
On that note, the room exploded into a frenzy of noise, with most  
voices calling for the police commissioner's head. Mac signaled   
to the officers to clear the building, and they swung into   
action. Slowly, they maneuvered the clamoring mob toward the   
doors. Mulder and Scully, already standing at the rear of the   
room, were among the first to go outside. The others showed   
little willingness to disperse, instead gathering by the station   
and discussing the stunning turn of events.   
  
Mulder and Scully headed back to their car, only to find it   
hemmed in by a BMW parked just inches from their rear bumper and   
a pickup trunk inches from the front bumper. There was no way   
they could safely drive it out until at least one of the other   
vehicles was moved.   
  
Mulder looked toward the police station. Whoever the drivers   
were, they weren't approaching. "Scully, how do you feel about   
taking the scenic route back to Kelly's?"   
  
"The docks?"   
  
"Now you're catching on."   
  
They walked in silence for a bit until Scully spoke. "Do you   
think Stefan Cassadine is really alive?"   
  
Mulder nodded. "Not much doubt about it. Any day now, he'll show   
up, with Luke Spencer soon following. I can think of one more   
positive outcome from that little press conference, too. Mark   
your calendar, Scully. Alexis Davis seemed pretty sharp. I wasn't  
sure one existed, but we may have finally found a sane Port   
Charles resident."   
  
Scully shook her head. "Alexis is Sonny's lawyer."   
  
Mulder sighed. "Scratch that observation."   
  
Scully went on, "She's also the sister of the non-deceased   
Stefan. I don't think any of these people are familiar with the   
concept of 'conflict of interest.'"   
  
"Stop, Scully," Mulder protested. "You've already sufficiently   
blackened her name in my book."   
  
"Okay, I'll change the subject. What do you make of her legal   
maneuvering? Will it work? Are those kids innocent?"   
  
"I'd say there's, oh, a 99% chance that they are. But I wouldn't   
concern myself too much with their fate. Despite the best efforts  
of the authorities, the real killer always seems to turn up. Part  
of the charm of this place is that no matter how many mistakes   
you make, or what evils lie in your past, you can always be   
redeemed. I'm slowly but surely figuring out what makes this   
place tick, and I'm not going to leave until I know everything."  
  
Scully laid a hand on his arm. "Mulder, you don't really mean   
that you want to *stay* here, do you?"  
  
"For as long as it takes," he agreed.  
  
"You've been in so much trouble over the years, not going home  
could be the last straw. You could finally be fired. Then what   
would you do?"   
  
"No problem. I know where I can find a high-ranking job with   
flexible part-time hours, no references needed, no questions   
asked. How does 'Commissioner Mulder' sound to you, Scully?"   
  
"Not very good, unless I get to be 'Mayor Scully'," she objected.   
"After everything we've been through, there's no way I'm letting   
our partnership split up. If you stay here, so do I, and I'm not   
exactly looking forward to the prospect. Be honest: Aren't you at   
all worried that you would be bored by small-town life?"   
  
"Not really. This place has both a higher and a lower murder   
rate per capita than Washington, D.C. does, and it seems to be a   
magnet for the paranormal. How many places can you say that   
about? I can't resist."   
  
Scully opened her mouth, but was forestalled by the ringing of  
her cell phone. She and Mulder stopped walking, and she   
answered. "Scully... Yes, that's right... And?... Nothing? Are   
you sure?... All right. Thank you." She ended the call and   
turned to Mulder. "I'm sorry, Mulder. The lab did a rush on the   
air and water samples I sent them, but they didn't find anything   
out of the ordinary."   
  
"Then how do you account for everything we learned in Port   
Charles?" he demanded. "Your logical, scientific explanation was   
shot down. Where do we go from here?"   
  
She shrugged helplessly. "We chalk it up as one more unsolved   
X-File? I don't know. I really thought the labs would turn up   
*something*."   
  
Mulder interrupted, pointing ahead and to the left. "Scully,   
look. See the sun glinting off that object way over there? Do you  
suppose that could be Stefan Cassadine spying on us through   
binoculars?"   
  
"Now you're taking things too far," she said. "It's much more  
likely that it's a reflection off..." Her voice trailed off; she  
tilted her head. "Mulder, what's that noise?"   
  
They listened carefully. Then Mulder heard it. It sounded like   
heart-rending sobs coming from a little further along the docks.   
He strode that way, with Scully right beside him. Mere yards   
ahead, a dark-clothed figure huddled on a faded green bench. Her  
arms were folded over the back of the bench, with her head   
resting on top of her arms. It was Chloe Morgan. Her shoulders   
shook wildly as she continued to wail.   
  
Scully knelt beside her. "Chloe, what's wrong?"   
  
The blonde lifted an unattractively tear-streaked face. "It's...  
it's..."   
  
"What?" Scully guessed, "Did your doctor give you a terminal   
diagnosis? Did your design company go bankrupt?"   
  
Chloe shook her head. "No... it's Jax. He..." she choked out.   
  
"He lost his fortune in a card game? Was presumed dead when his   
plane crashed in the Catskills? Left you to search for his   
presumed-dead fiancee, Brenda?"   
  
Chloe's eyes widened. She was so startled, she forgot to keep   
crying, so her words emerged clearly. "Yes! How did you know?"   
  
"I was right?" Scully said.   
  
Chloe nodded, staring at her in wonder.   
  
"You're thinking like they do. You know what this means, don't   
you, Scully?" Mulder said.   
  
"Yes, I know," she acknowledged. "Maybe we've already been in   
Port Charles too long, Mulder."   
  
end 8/8  
  
  
Yes, this is the end. I'm not going to neatly tie up every  
plot thread, because GH and XF generally leave loose ends   
themselves. Anyway, I feel that enough has been resolved to   
allow this story to come to a reasonable end, with the door  
left open for a possible sequel.   
  
  
  
  



End file.
